Breaking Monotony
by Moonlight Usagi-Chan
Summary: (A/U) Never at 34 did Serena Kou expect her life would be so predictable. Between two preteens, a polite marriage and a decade of sacrifice, Serena finds herself wondering if there is more to life than what she has made of it so far. Enter Darien Shields: senior partner, and Serena's new boss. A story on growth, Serena juggles challenges while finding balance and her own happiness.
1. Prologue

Breaking Monotony

(A/U) Never at 34 did Serena Kou expect her life would be so predictable. Between two preteens, polite marriage, and a decade of sacrifice, Serena finds herself wondering if there is more to life than what she has made of it so far. Enter Darien Shields: senior partner, and Serena's new boss. Life is about to get a lot more vivacious.

* * *

 _Prologue_

I feel… _free_.

In this moment, as his lips gently grazes against my collarbone, I can't help but think it. The frustrations of life evaporate as his hands roam my body, and I am all too willing to share it with him. His expert touch elicits goosebumps all over, a fire deep in my soul igniting as he continues to pleasure me. It's everything I want; no – it's everything I _need_.

My hands grip the cotton beneath me, twisting the fabric until I feel the fitted sheet pull up slightly from the corner of the bed. Never in my life have I felt passion such as this. Never have I been so wanton, so starved for another man's body.

Foreplay isn't necessary. No, we've been doing this for months. The glances. The conversations. The subtle touches. As he buries himself within me, I can't help but let out a moan of carnal hunger from finally being fulfilled. A lust only he could satisfy despite who was waiting for me at home. Years of suppressed sexuality finally felt awakened as I tremble beneath his taut, muscular frame.

I bring my hands up to his face, slipping my fingers into the silky tresses of his jet-black hair before grasping at them, none too gently, may I add. However, I quickly dislodge my grip of his hair and begin to claw at his back, my body screaming in anticipation of what I know will be a bliss I haven't experienced in years.

It hits me quickly, much quicker than I could have ever expected, as I go through the rolling sensations of absolute ecstasy. But he's not finished. And neither am I. Before I can recover fully, he has flipped me on top of him, and I am all too eager to accept the workload.

As I grind against him, sweat pouring down my body, I feel myself disconnecting from the woman I have become in the real world:

The employee.

The coordinator.

The soccer mom.

The wife.

In this moment, this blissful, erotic, so immoral and unjust…

I am free.


	2. Chapter 1

_Six Months Earlier_

7:02.

My eyes linger on the number a moment longer than necessary. Red digits stare back at me, taunting me, its weight upon my shoulder. I continue to bang on the bedroom door, aimlessly shouting into the door.

"Elsie, come on, it is after seven. If you don't wake up now you are going to miss your bus!" I exclaim for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. Nothing. Not a grunt, not a moan from my eleven-year-old daughter who stayed up excessively late last night.

I groan as I slam my head against the door, jiggling at the locked handle. Mornings as these remind me why I should swap out her door handle, but honestly, the moment is as fleeting as a yawn at 5:30am. "Elise, let's GO."

A gurgled, muffled _mmph_ finally shuts me up, and for a flicker of a moment, I am satisfied that I can at least finish buttoning my shirt up. I shuffle into my bedroom, stopping in front of the dresser to finish my own task of getting dressed. I stare at my reflection as I slip the buttons through their respective holes, tired eyes of an exhausted, working mother mimicking my movements. Without further thought, I feel my hands mechanically pull at my dull, limp blonde hair, surprisingly only three days unwashed, into a tidy bun. My hand itches to grab the tube of mascara that I abandoned in my makeup tin, but I forgo it in favor of redirecting thirty seconds to check on my nine-year-old son.

As I walk out of the room, I knock on Elsie's door one more time. "I'm UP," I hear my precious daughter bark from behind the door. I can feel the blood rushing to my fingertips, but I shake my head instead. Some days, it is not worth it. Especially days where I have a brief I cannot be late for.

I poke my head into Alex's room. "Hey bud, you awake?" I ask my son, who is laying in his bed in his usual Nike attire, black hair sticking in different, unkempt directions. As I should have expected, his eyes are glued to his laptop. The lack of response irritates me, especially when I see he has his airbuds in. God, I hate those things. It reminds me of when people had their Bluetooth accessories in all the time. Seriously, they all looked like douches. And now, it's airbuds. Why the fuck did Seiya get him airbuds I'll never understand. Or is it called airpods? Whatever.

I knock on the doorframe loudly once again, feeling slightly victorious when I somehow manage to startle him out of his game. "7:13 bud. You've got 20 minutes before the bus."

"Yeah, Mom, I know. 5 minutes," he dismisses me; his eyes unremoved from that forth night game.

I sigh again.

It's literally the same thing every morning. Wake up at 5, stream and complete a workout on demand, make and drink a cup of coffee, attempt to wake up family at 6, and proceed to shout at everyone until the bus arrives. Sometimes if I'm lucky, Seiya wakes up early enough to assist me in coercing the kids out of bed. And, more times than not, if the kids are especially useless that morning, I get to cart them to school while they're moaning about how they missed the bus.

I shuffle down the stairs, currently vacuumed and matted with cat fur, and into the kitchen where the coffee maker beckons me once again. It's probably unhealthy the amount of coffee I drink before 7am, but fuck it. There are worse ways to die. Pouring myself yet another cup, I stare out to the vacant kitchen table, waiting for my children and husband to sit in their respective seats.

I lift my mug mechanically to my lips as I watch them file to the table. First to arrive is Alex, who quietly tucks into his bowl of cereal. Seiya is next, striding in smoothly to the kitchen dressed in his jeans and button-up top, looking every bit the computer science instructor that he is. And, of course, Elsie is last to skid in to the kitchen, dressed in her typical fashion: her long, black hair pulled into a messy top-bun paired with leggings and a hoodie. Always leggings and a hoodie. Hey, at least it's better than what some kids wear nowadays.

My eyes glance away from the table and to the activities calendar I mounted on the fridge. Honestly, life is becoming so chaotic that I had to create two separate calendars: life events and daily activities. Today is just another Tuesday: work and school followed by soccer practice for Alex, hip-hop for Elsie, Taekwondo for Seiya, and working until '?' for me.

That question mark next to my neatly chalked-in name haunts me temporarily. I have been blessed, and cursed, to be a legal assistant at Wilford and Shields, one of Washington's most prestigious law firms, long enough that I have a flex schedule. Meaning, I can leave and pick the kids up from school to take them to practice or attend afternoon games, but in return, I have to return to work to make up my hours lost. Granted, this isn't every day – typically only when Seiya has something at night – but some days it is draining.

"7:28," I robotically call out to the table, summoning the noise of chair legs scraping their way against the worn-out wooden floor. Both kids pick up their backpacks and shout their goodbyes down the narrow hallway that leads to the front door. And, like usual, before I can even call out any response back, the door slams shut, advising me that both are on their way to the bus stop on the corner. Seiya, on the other hand, continues to munch at his cereal, his day not starting for another hour.

Our routine conversation begins. "Busy day today?" he asks. I, having been his wife for the last eleven years, know that he stops listening after 30 seconds of my agenda, so I keep it brief.

"Yes, I have a meeting at 8."

He nods. "Are you picking them up from school today?"

I return the nod. "Yes. Mina is bringing them home from soccer and dance today." Mina Dupre is our neighbor and one of the best damn women who graced this Earth. Seriously, if it wasn't for her, I don't know what I would do with my kids and their sports. Honestly, they would be limited to Saturday-only sports, if they were even that lucky.

"Okay. What's for dinner?"

"I'm working late, so, probably pizza."

"Sounds good."

And, so concludes another routine, marital conversation. God, were we always so boring?

We exchange maybe one or two more pleasantries before we move on, him clearing the table, me turning off and washing out the coffee pot. Before I know it, I have my bag and my purse slung over my shoulder, calling out to Seiya that I am leaving. I hear a muffled goodbye from behind a closed door, and I know that, like every morning, he is taking his morning shit.

Some days, it's hard to imagine that I am only 33 years old. Two kids, a husband, a mortgage, and a mini-van on life support, I feel like every bit of the girl who got pregnant young and less like myself with each passing day. Most of my friends are just starting to have babies, whereas I have a preteen and a young man living under my roof. At first, I really thought it would be fun having my kids young. I convinced myself that when they were adults, I'd be young enough to be able to go out and enjoy a social life with Seiya in my late 30's and early 40's. Hell, I believed I could maybe be young enough to be that Mom who is her daughter's best friend, like in Gilmore Girls.

Instead, I am finding it to be incredibly lonely. While I was at home tending to two little kids and working nights, my friends were going to trendy bars on the weekends dressed in their gorgeous apparel or would travel to different destinations for girl's weekends. Sure, I made it out here and there for a few hours, but it was painfully obvious I wasn't versed in the lifestyles they lived.

To top things off, I wound up sacrificing my career path. _Serena Tsukino, Esquire_ quickly morphed into _Serena Kou, Legal Secretary_ when I discovered my pregnancy my first year in law school. With Seiya wrapping up his Masters degree the first year of Elsie's life, it made no sense having two parents in school and working nights to make daycare payments. So, I stayed home with Elsie during the day, and Seiya was with her at night while I worked as a third-shift secretary. I naively thought that once Seiya got his Masters and got in as a teacher somewhere I could make law school work again, but it proved to be impossible for us. I struggled greatly before dropping out midway through the semester, unable to dedicate my time. So, I made the career change to working as an assistant and applied at W&S. It was a wise move at that time, as I found out I was, oops, once again surprised by another pregnancy. So a shotgun wedding and two kids later, I find myself feeling nothing at all like how I imagined I would be 10 or 15 years ago.

Not to say I'd trade my kids for anything. I love my children dearly. It's just, I really wish I had them a little later in life. But, I also know that if I waited, I wouldn't have Elsie and Alex.

I pull in to the dedicated lot for W&S, mechanically making my way to the same spot I have parked in the last four years. As I pull in, however, I can't help but notice a sleek, sexy Maserati parked a few spots back. God, I'm a sucker for sports cars. I always envisioned having a cherry-red Audi R8 Spyder convertible myself, but I can appreciate an expertly crafted set of wheels.

I'd also be a damn liar if I didn't have a picture of an Audi R8 taped in my desk drawer for when I need to 'escape' for a moment. It's much better than picturing myself in my beat up Toyota Highlander that somehow smells of Goldish crackers. My kids haven't eaten those forsaken crackers in years, yet, no matter how many times I bring my car to get the interior cleaned, it magically retains like that damn cheddar flavor.

Hell, I'd take a 1868 BC Ford Pinto at this point. Anything to get me out of this minivan of servitude.

I make my way into the side door of the building and up to the third floor. I have been working for Senior Partner Damien Shields and his team of attorneys for the last seven of my eleven years here, and he has been an absolute amazing mentor. Rumor has it that he is planning on retiring soon, or at the very least reducing his hours. It's bittersweet; while he is 65, his mind is still as sharp as ever and continues to serve a lot of dedicated clients.

What I was not expecting, however, was my colleague and good friend Lita to shuffle over to my desk immediately with a knowing look on her face.

"Have you heard?" she exclaims as I began to power up my computer.

I shake my head. "No, what?" I turn my attention back to my computer as I log in, but she taps the landing of my desk to regain my attention.

"We've acquired a new firm."

"Really?" _So? That's not that unusual,_ I can't help but think.

"It's Mr. Shields' son's firm."

A little more interesting. "Oh, that's a little surprising."

"Yeah, and, rumor is, that Shields' son is taking over his client base as he exits out of the firm."

Now she has my full attention. "Wait, what?"

She nods. "Yeah, so, you know what that means."

I can't help but stiffen my jaw. "I'm getting a new boss," I answer.

"Yup," she confirms. "I wanted to give you the heads up as soon as possible. I'm sure Mr. Shields is going to formally announce it, at the very least to you, but, so you can prepare."

 _Great_ , I think gloomily. I love working alongside Damien. After seven years of assisting him, I picked up on his mannerisms and ethics very quickly. And with working with someone in such a position, I, too, achieved accolades and respect amongst the attorney's. With new blood coming in, I had no idea what to expect. Honestly, I had assumed John Dowers, Damien's number two, to take over the team. I definitely did not think Damien's son had been any part of his succession plan.

I look back up to Lita, who appears to have been watching me process. "Wait, how do you know all this?"

"Pillow talk," she smiled coyly, and I'm instantly reminded of her relationship with our HR Manager, Amy.

"Ah, yes," I grin. God, it's good knowing people with these connections. "Have I mentioned yet how fabulous you are today? Because you seriously just saved me a dumb shock face in front of Mr. Shields."

"I believe you just did. You know I got your back, girl," Lita smiles as she tosses her chestnut ponytail over her shoulder before making her way back to her desk. I can't help but watch her as she walks away. Not that I'm checking her out or anything, but watching our male colleagues eyes on her continues to be absolutely hilarious. Usually when they find out that Lita is bisexual, they find her to be ten times more attractive. Not that she isn't already with her tall frame and well-endowed blessings, but knowing she loves men _and_ women? They probably assume she has the golden pussy.

With that thought, I sigh again. Not that I want people checking me out, but I know I look nothing like the beautiful Lita. Why she's even friendly to someone like me baffles me sometimes. Bags under my eyes, stretch marks, and the bare-minimum maintenance. That's me, rolled up into a pasty white shell of a woman.

Rather than dive back into the pity party, I decide to focus on my work. Being a legal assistant does keep my day extremely busy, allowing me to disassociate from the woes of my monotonous rut of a life I'm currently living. For a few hours, I feel productive, having taken extensive notes during my earlier brief and typing them up into a more formal memo for the client's file. When Mr. Shields calls me into my office, I am especially grateful for Lita's heads up, especially when he closes the door behind us.

Mr. Damien Shields is the definition of a professional in my opinion. His salt and pepper hair is always expertly combed out of his face, his suits are always pressed and in immaculate condition. When Damien sits behind his desk and leans back into his oversized, mahogany desk chair, I can't help but notice a twinkle in his eye, and I feel myself mentally prepare for the news that Lita already disclosed.

"I wanted to share with you before the press release is distributed later this afternoon that effective August 30, I will be will be transitioning into retirement," he shares with me.

I smile sadly at the news. "Congratulations, sir," I reply. "Will you be leaving the firm entirely or will you be slowly transitioning out?"

"Slowly," he confirms. "I will serve as a Senior Counsel Member for the next year, but I will be serving more in a mentor role before I retire completely."

"I have to admit that I am glad you are not leaving us completely just yet," I reply with a smile, my words truthful. His smile broadens further, and I brace myself for the next steps in this discussion.

"This does mean, however, that someone will be filling in my shoes, which leads me to my next piece of news. We finalized our merger with DS Law Practice, which you know is my son's small group of attorney's. It turns out that my son's business partner wanted to move on, which, to be honest, he's better off without." A knock at the door interrupts him, to which he waves the figure behind the window in. "What I'm getting at, is that when I step down next month, my son will be taking my place."

When I turn my body to greet Mr. Shields' son, I feel my body suspend. He is an absolute vision, his expertly tailored fitted suit a shade of deep black that matches his styled, pulled back locks. His eyes, a deep, unsettling royal blue greet my own, and I find myself unable to speak, let alone extend out my hand to shake his own. His face is one designed by the Gods, complete with a sharp nose, firm jawline, and tanned skin that looks like he has been pulled straight out of the Mediterranean Sea. I am fixated on his lips, catching the glimpse of his pearly white teeth, when I finally realizing he is talking to me. I blink rapidly, hoping to break myself out of my trance, when I gather only one piece of information: his name.

"It's nice to meet you, Darien," I managed to squeak out before I face Damien again. I can feel my cheeks reddening in complete embarrassment. Whatever I was expecting from this conversation, I most certainly did not foresee that Damien's son would be drop-dead gorgeous! After all, he didn't really keep a lot of family mementos in his office; if anything, it was photos of his kids from their younger years. Darien at 10 years old in his little league outfit had no comparison in how striking he was.

"I'm sure you have questions," Damien assumed, forcing me to come back to reality. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything right off the bat, except for one really stupid assumption.

"Do you own the Maserati? The one I saw in the parking lot?"

To say both men were taken aback slightly would be putting it nicely. Damien looked quite perplexed, but Darien's smile, one as smooth as honey, and just as sweet, made my heart quicken.

"It is, actually," he purred. Dear lord, a sexy man with a sexy car to boot.

"Very beautiful," I manage to spit out.

"Perhaps I'll take you for a ride in it to lunch one of these days," Darien replied artfully, and like that, I feel myself turn a shade of crimson as I nod my head a little too enthusiastically.

Damien, however, seems uninterested in the direction of the conversation. "I meant in terms of the succession, Serena," he states as he redirects the discussion. I hang my head slightly, feeling every bit embarrassed as I should be in this situation. I am a professional, damn it.

"Yes, of course," I quickly regain composure as I think of some questions to ask. "Will I continue to remain in this position as you transition into retirement, sir?"

The smile reappears on Damien's face. "Of course," he assures. "You have been an asset to this team. It would be foolish to rehome you in light of this information. Darien is gaining quite a valuable asset by having you as his number one." I smile at the high praise from Mr. Shields, and once again, feel myself saddened and perplexed by the unknown.

"When will we begin working together?" I ask as I notion to Darien, though continue to keep my focus on Mr. Shields.

"Darien will be completing his onboarding over the next few days, but expect him to be lingering around here until he begins to move into my office. I will be transitioning to my new office during this whole process as well so we can establish Darien's presence as soon as possible."

We exchange a few more pieces of information before I am dismissed, and I am beyond thankful that the meeting was cut short. As I sit back at my desk, I drop my head in my hands. My first meeting with my new boss and I look and sound like an idiot. An idiot. Ugh.

I mentally chastise myself _. Is that your car_? _UGH SERENA SERIOUSLY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT WHY? He probably thinks your some brainless idiot who is interested in getting in his pants rather than app-_

"Serena?" His voice douses me as I force myself to raise my head.

"Y-yes?" I stammer, flushed in embarrassment _yet again_.

"Sorry to interrupt, but, can you tell me where Andrew Furuhata sits? I have my next meeting with him."

I scramble to my feet immediately. "I will bring you," I squeak, hoping to overcome my lousy impression I have been giving him so far. He returns a beautiful smile.

"Thank you."

We glide through the office space before we reach the stairwell. "How long have you worked here?" he asks.

"Eleven years," I answer as we make our way down the stairs.

"Wow. Pardon my forwardness, but you don't look like someone who has worked at a company for eleven years," he replies with an element of surprise. I can't help but drink in the complement.

"Thank you," I laugh. "But it's true; I started here in my early 20's."

"I would say that is a testament to working for a good company," he muses, and he is spot on.

"Yes, Sir; I love it here. I can't imagine myself anywhere else." We make our way into the Enterprise team's section of the building in silence, but I can't help but be aware of how close he is to me. I mentally shake my head; I bring new employees down here all the time. Why on Earth am I so aware of Darien Shields? I mean, yeah, he's probably one of the sexiest men I've ever seen, but still. It must be because he's going to be my new boss. Yeah. That's it. I need to make a good impression on him. I need him to know that I am a valuable employee so I can, well, remain employed. No employment equals no money. No money means no mortgage payment. No mortgage payment means no roof. Yup. That's why.

We reach Andrew's office, who is the head of our HR Department and one of the sweetest men I know. I knock on his open door to announce our arrival.

"Sir, I have Darien Shields here for you," I announce confidently. I exchange what I feel to be a brilliant smile between the two men before I excuse myself.

"Thank you, Serena," Andrew announces as he stands up from his desk, extending his hand. I back away from his office and close the door behind them, letting out a long, stressed out breath.

Why do I feel like things are going to get a whole lot more interesting around here?


	3. Chapter 2

Leadership changes are never… easy.

Like my first job. I had this insanely hot manager when I worked at the ice cream stand. My God, that man could wear a pair of khaki cargo shorts like no other. And his uniform shirt? It's unfair how well it fit his unusually broad 18-year-old chiseled chest. AND he was a blonde with blue eyes. I was _so sure_ we were destined for each other, despite that I never had a conversation with him that didn't revolve around ice cream.

But what happens in August to an 18-year-old? College. And for Bryan – yes, Bryan McKakkey, I still very clearly remember his name – it was college on the east coast.

I. Was. Devastated.

Not that we dated. I mean, he knew my name, and my 16-year-old self was just fine with that. We dated only in my mind, where I had the courage to talk to him, flirt with him, and kiss him beneath the red and white stripped awning of the order window. We never even hung out in a group setting. God, maybe I should have made a move. I always regretted that moving into senior year. But I digress. When Bryan left for school, naturally they needed to have a new evening-manager of the shop.

Enter Caroline Acton.

Caroline. With her big hair and even bigger ego, she ordered all of us around as if we were nothing more than a loyal herd of meerkats. She constantly pushed us to work harder, longer, no breaks, no stopping, no chit-chat, no nothing. It was brutal. I think three people quit that very week. I don't know how I held on four months of her terror reign, but when she tried to accuse me of stealing from the register, I threw my apron in her face and got the hell out of there.

I never, ever thought I'd feel rage at work like I did when Caroline accused me of stealing five dollars. Five lousy stinkin' bucks. I think that propelled me into the desire to study law. Ever since then, I vowed that if I ever worked for a Caroline again, I would quit. I wasn't anyone's doormat; I was somebody. I was damn good at my job, and if you can't, or won't respect me, then I'm out of here.

Presently, I am not quite sure yet what to expect from Mr. Darien Shields, Attorney at Law, because, well, he has barely had me to a…ny…thing.

Darien's transition into the firm was surprisingly seamless. Everyone seemed to love him – senior partners, junior attorneys, interns, admins – they worshiped the ground he walked on. I guess living on legacy's heels can do that to you. That, and insanely good looks. Plus, once it got around that he was single, all the ladies flocked to him. It is quite a site watching the hens in the coop try to catch his attention. Honestly, though, he's so absorbed in his work, I haven't even seen him try to reciprocate. I give him high accolades for that, considering Anne Taylor appeared to forget to wear a blouse under her red suitcoat at our last team meeting.

I digress. For the first week, it was a little nerve wracking. After all, transitioning to a new supervisor is tough enough, but when it is entirely a new employee to the firm? I had no idea what kind of needs or wants he would like. As an assistant, my job is to, well, _assist_ with all sorts of legal tasks: file exhibits, briefs, appeals, and other documents at the courthouse, take meeting notes and file them in our client's binders, call and schedule meetings with clients, witnesses, lawyers, vendors… the list goes on. It is like an administrative assistant position, but with a lot more moving pieces.

Under Damien, however, he knew that I started law school, so he let me tackle a lot bigger pieces. Mainly, participate with investigating the facts of a case. Investigating the facts is easily my favorite thing to do in my job. It's looking beyond the shades of gray to find the black and white. It's the datum. The story. The truth. At least, that's what we look for here. I certainly do not work for a crooked defense attorney.

Anyhow, I noticed the first week that things were oddly stale. I continued to draft correspondence and call clients, but I noticed that things I did for Damien, like my research and deposition writing, were on the slower side. I chalked it up to transition and welcomed the mental break. Week two, same thing. I actually found myself getting bored, looking to Lita for some additional work because I actually completed all of my backlogged filing.

And now that it is week three? Well, I have finally scheduled a meeting with Darien to discuss with him my skillsets and how I actually serve our team. I know he comes from a small group of attorneys who didn't really have a lot of legal assistants or paralegals, but come on, you're paying me $50k to sit on my ass? While some would probably think that's a sweet gig, I remind you that I _wanted_ to be an attorney, to work those disgusting hours fighting for justice. I never, ever wanted to sit by idly and just watch time tick down until 5:00. So, in thirty minutes, I will be sitting face-to-face with Mr. Gorgeous and ask him _what the hell_ , except in prettier words, of course.

I can't help but find myself nervous, though. In the three-ish weeks he has been here, we've had maybe five conversations. One time he asked me how to scan documents in the copier. When I offered to do it for him, he seemed oddly reluctant to give me the paperwork. But, again, I chalked it up to the fact that he doesn't know me. The second conversation was asking me to set up his clients into our data manager software, which took me a good three days of repetitive button clicking and address typing (and probably my least favorite task in the history of my career thus far). The third conversation he asked me where the closest coffee shop was, as he wanted to meet a client there (not sure how he didn't know Starbucks was a block away, literally). Our fourth was a little more in depth. He asked me how to order supplies on our Intranet. So, I spent about five minutes with him introducing him to our office ordering requisition form, helping him to order 3 boxes of tissues and about 7 different size variations of post-it notes.

Okay, so, today will mark conversation number five. I've had five conversations with John Dowers already this morning.

To keep myself busy for the next 30 minutes, I turn to John's redlined deposition and begin making corrections in the client's file. Whichever Manager drafted this did a piss-poor job, as there is red bleeding practically everywhere. However, that means more work for me, and right now, I'm thirsty for it. I ease my way through the Word document, making the updates with Track Changes turned on, when the next thing I know my Outlook calendar reminder is dinging.

 _Time to shine, superstar._

I strut over to the mahogany door and knock on it confidently; pleased when rewarded with a 'come in.' I open the door to one hell of a site: Darien with glasses on. I've never really been in to glasses, but holy fuck, those deep blue eyes reading over the tops of his wired glasses was something equivalent to an erotic poetry reading session.

Stretching out a tight smile while mentally slapping myself back to reality, I make my way into his office and sit down in the chair in front of his desk.

"How are you today?" I ask formally, easing my way into our discussion. He barely looks up from his document.

"Not bad," he responds slowly as his eyes continue to scan the paper. It's about thirty seconds of dead air before he puts his paperwork down. "Sorry, wanted to make sure I didn't lose my spot."

I smile. "No worries," I respond with a shake of my head, dismissing the need for apology.

He pulls his glasses off and tosses them on top of his paper. "So, what can I help you with this morning?"

 _Showtime._ "I wanted to take a moment to discuss with you how I can be of service to you. I know it has been a few weeks since you've been situated in the position, so I wanted to share with you what I can help out with and alleviate some of your burdens."

I watch Darien's long fingers fold together into a fist against his chest while he leans back in his chair. His index fingers rise, pressed to the tip of his chin as he focuses his attention further on me. I shift in my seat slightly.

"Such as?" he inquires, and I don't know if he's looking at me if I'm some run-of-the-mill secretary, or if he's genuinely interested.

"When I worked for Mr. Shields, I was a lot more involved in the cases from start to finish, including items like research and drafting documents relevant to the case. I did take some law classes at WU prior to beginning here, so I have a skillset that correlates more to a paralegal than an administrative assistant."

"Then why aren't you a paralegal?" he asks bluntly, and I can't help but frown.

"Timing wasn't on my side, unfortunately. I have two children," I respond without divulging my history. He nods, but I feel like it's not the nod I was hoping for.

"I see," he replies as he sits up in his chair. "Well, in terms of administrative items I can pass along to you, I could certainly use help getting my time entered in."

"Of course. I can print-off a stack of timesheets if you'd like to fill it out with your chargeable time and I'll input it into your electronic one."

"Sure," he agrees with disinterest, "whatever is easiest. Also, screening my calls would be helpful. Do you have that function at your desk?"

"I do."

"Excellent. If you could please have reception send all my calls to you, then you can determine if it's someone I should speak with."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. My calendar. Please manage it. You can go ahead and schedule meetings on my behalf. I'll place you as a delegate in my calendar so you can go ahead and add and edit items on there. Just place them immediately on my calendar. Don't send it from yours. I don't want to have to accept 15 meeting requests every hour."

I continue to jot down his extremely basic requests. "Of course," I reply.

"And," he pauses as his eyes scan his office. "See that silver bin on my credenza?" he asks with a nod of his head to the mantle off to the side of his office. I turn my head to discover a silver bin filled with loose papers ripped off a yellow pad. "Those are my client notes. Please scan them in to their binders so I don't have that crap building up in my office."

"Okay to recycle them once they're scanned in?" I ask as I jot down his additional lame request.

"As long as you check the scan that it's legible," he responds, and I sense that this is the first test of his to trust me.

"Will do," I respond. "Anything else?"

He purses his lips in thought. "No, not at the moment. Let's see how this goes, and if I think of anything else, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Sounds good," I conclude. As I begin to stand up, however, he sits upright in his chair and adds to the conversation.

"Don't go just yet," he instructs, and I resituate myself into my seat. "I want to talk to you about your schedule."

A lump suddenly hitches in my throat. "My schedule?" I reply quizzically, panic starting to rush through my veins. I can't help but immediately think that my hours are going to be cut, considering his list of demands are miniscule.

"Yes. I understand that my Father granted you a flexible schedule," he begins. My palms begin to clam up as his beautiful lips pause their movement. I feel like a deer in the headlights, sitting there, wearing a dumb smile on my face as I await his statement. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck please don't—_

"I don't understand the circumstances that he granted you a flexible schedule, but I'm not comfortable at this time operating together like that. What happens if I need your assistance and you're not there? If we are to be a team, you need to be here to assist during our business hours, after-hours when necessary."

I gulp. "Sir," I counter in a pleading tone, "I use that flex-time to take my children to their after-school activities."

He appears to be uncompassionate. "I inquired with HR. You're the only admin that has flex scheduling. It's not fair to the other assistants to grant you the privilege. Now, if you want to use your PTO to bring them to certain events, that's a different conversation. I'll give you until the end of the month to figure out an alternative arrangement, but beginning the first of November, I want you on an 8 to 5 schedule."

My eyes are watering. Who the fuck was he to take away something so important to me? My kids extracurricular activities _rely_ on my schedule. What the fuck am I going to do?

"Yes, sir," I reply meekly. His expression softens. How I feel inwardly must be written all over my face.

"I know it's a big change, but do you understand where I am coming from?"

 _No, you fucking asshole_ is all I want to scream, but I just nod my head dumbly.

"Good. Thank you for scheduling this meeting, Serena. I'm glad we will be working together." He closes the conversation with a smile before slipping his glasses back on, effectively ending our meeting. I stand up, completely stunned, and walk out of his office. It feels mechanical, walking back to my desk, and I thank my body that it knows exactly where to go because my mind is completely fried. Muscle memory? Either way, I just received the bitch-slapping of a lifetime, a serious, unexpected change that's going to completely implode my life.

Once I sit down at my desk, I drop my head into my hands. _Now what?_ I think of the kid's reactions when I tell them that they can't participate anymore in their sports. It's early enough in the season to maybe switch them to the later classes, that is, if there even is one. Seiya's schedule is too unreliable; there is no way he would be okay with taking this role on. This was my responsibility.

And I fucked it all up because I wanted Mr. Darien Shields to see me as a _somebody._

I want to cry.

Luckily, Lita is at my desk before I can let a teardrop fall, and I breathe silent thanks to up above because I'd be _damned_ if I let that rat bastard make me cry.

"Coffee break?" Lita asks, her expression soft and knowing. I nod vigorously; I need to get away from here before I lose my cool. I grab my mug and follow her to the kitchenette, eager to dispel what is on my chest and seek guidance on how to proceed with what to do next.

We stand next to each other as we pour coffee into our mugs, dumping in heaps of flavored creamer to mask the cheap taste of the horrible coffee. You would think for an attorney's office they would have much better coffee, but oddly enough, it's the one area they don't splurge. Lita and I rotate who brings in the good creamer; this week it was she, and it's pumpkin pie spiced. And for the record, there is a difference between pumpkin spice and pumpkin _pie_ spice; you actually get the nutmeg spiced taste in the later. It tastes like a sliced of basic white girl heaven, and I am a-ok with that.

We sit down at one of the little tables and sip into our drinks. "Ok, spill," she finally says when we acknowledge the coast is clear. I sigh as I place my mug down on the table.

"He has revoked my flex scheduling," I reply, feeling every bit as defeated as I sound.

"Say what?" she replies, clearly taken aback by how she suddenly jerked her head away from her cup. "Why in the Hell would he do that?"

I sigh when I think back to his reasoning. "He said it's not fair to the other admins here in the building, and that I need to be here during business hours. Apparently making up my hours in the evening, when 80% of the freaking people who work here are still here, isn't good enough anymore."

"Did you tell him that it is for your fucking kids?" Lita exclaims with matched fury, even more enraged when I nod my head sadly. "Who does he think he is?!"

"The boss," I spit out into my drink. "Lita, what the fuck am I going to do? Elsie just got accepted onto the competition team at dance. If she's not there Tuesdays and Thursdays at 4:45, she will be kicked off. She worked her ass off this summer to qualify. How am I supposed to take this away from her? 'Sorry, baby, Mommy has to work and can't take you to dance anymore?'"

Lita sighed, her shoulders slumping in empathy. "There has to be a way. What about hiring a Nanny?"

I snort. "Seiya would never go for that. He won't even let me get rid of Dory," I grumble in reference to my minivan.

"Does she have a friend in the program that she could ride-share with? Like her parents bring her, you pick them up?"

I purse my lips. "That's not the worst idea."

"What about Alex's stuff? Does it impact him?"

"Fuck, yes; he has soccer Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday's at 5:30."

"Can Seiya handle those ones?"

I nod hesitantly, the knot in my stomach slowly untangling. "I think so. I think his last class is at 4:30. If he can get out the door, he probably can. I just used to take Elsie to dance, Alex to soccer, and drive myself back here. One quick swoop, ya know?'

Lita nodded. "Well, maybe it's time Seiya had to take some of the burden. God knows you've been doing it for so long."

I sigh. "Yeah, but I don't know yet how I'm going to get Elsie to dance. Until then, I'm going to be a freaking mess."

Lita pats the top of my hand gently. "Don't worry; you'll figure it out."

And for a flicker of a moment, I actually think I will.

#

"So, yeah, I don't know what I'm going to do," I sigh as I wipe down the casserole dish over the sink, repeating my story to Seiya. He leans against the counter, his arms folded, as he stands stoic.

"Did you try explaining to this douche that it's because of your kids?" Seiya asks, and I nod my head in response.

"He didn't care," I answer, which irritates Seiya more.

"He sounds like a fucking prick," he spits out. "Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"The boss," I stress. "Please, Seiya, don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"This is bullshit, Serena," he says. "This doesn't just affect you, it affects all of us."

I snort. "You mean you. Because now you need to step up," I retort, irritation brimming. Of course Seiya is in tunnel vision mode right now; his leisurely drive home, taking his sweet ass time, stopping at the gym to get a workout in or going to happy hour, has now been disrupted.

"Don't get bitchy with me," Seiya states, his eyes narrowed. "You're the one who worked out this schedule and put the kids in all these damn activities at this hour."

I stop washing the dish and turn to him. "Yeah, because I wanted them home at a decent hour to do their homework. God damn it, Seiya, stop making this out to be my fault! My schedule has been revoked; deal with it! We need to come up with a solution, not have you fucking fight with me!" I snap. Jesus fuck, both grown men in my life today have completely fucking ruined my day today.

Seiya pinches the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright, you're right," he states. "Listen, I think I know someone who is looking for a babysitting gig."

My ears, eyes, and eyebrows all perk at that. Seiya, mentioning _paying_ someone? "Really? I didn't think you'd go for that."

"Well, unless you want our kids to drop out of their shit, I think this is the only way we can do it." I nod my head in complete agreeance.

"Well, who do you have in mind?" I ask, both surprised and thrilled that we potentially might have reached a sensible solution.

"A student of mine; her name is Kakyuu."


	4. Chapter 3

The second Thursday of the month. Also known as October 9th, but in the Kou house, it's the night that is reserved for having sex.

Pathetic, right? Seiya and I actually have to pen in when we're going to get laid. It started years ago, when Elsie and Alex were little, and time was practically impossible to find. Couple that with toddler separation anxiety, Elsie crawling into our bed almost every night, and complete and total stress of, well, life, our sex life became nonexistent. Pathetic isn't strong enough; pitiful was more like it. We were maybe 26, 27 years old when this began.

At first, it was exciting having our "planned day." You had a whole day just to think about having sex later that night. Flirty texts, sexy underwear picked ou, random statements about how I was going to do this or that to him throughout the day, be it on the phone, or soft whisperings as we passed each other in the hallway. It was like extended foreplay. Couple that with the fact that birth control kept me pretty regular, the second Thursday of the month never seemed to interfere with my period.

Six years later, we've somehow managed to keep that one promise alive. Only difference is, it is no wear near as sexy and exciting as it used to be. Not by a long shot.

Currently, I am laying in my bed, peeking my head over Seiya's shoulder, as he continues to thrust inside me. Forensic Files is currently on, an episode I haven't seen before, and I'd much rather listen to the deep, stimulating tone of Peter Thomas' voice describing forensic science than I am listening to Seiya grunt. In fact, I didn't really want to tonight, but the last time I tried postponing our ritual, even by a day, Seiya was surprisingly pissed. He actually felt that this was important for our relationship, to stay connected, to be husband and wife. I never, ever, _ever_ imagined him saying something so… romantic, I guess? So, I never postponed it again. However, there are times, like tonight, for instance, where sex is merely just a physical act rather than passionate. I didn't even bother to remove my shirt.

Then again, neither did he.

I feel his pace quicken, and I can tell he is about to finish. In an attempt to help, uh, _push him along_ , I rake my fingers through his dampened hair and start massaging at his crown. He lets out a moan before he goes rigid, and I know that he is letting out his release. The head massage always, without fail, gets him.

He pulls out and gets off the bed, all while slipping the condom off and wrapping it in a wad of tissues. Every time I see the condom I feel my stomach lurch, but then I remind myself that it's far, far better to use double protection than go through the agony of a potential _living_ third child again.

Maybe that's where our marriage died. Losing a child, let alone a baby girl named Hope at 22 weeks, can change anyone. We both agreed no more children after we lost our little one. The pain was unbearable. Elsie was six and Alex had just turned five, so thankfully they don't carry the heavy burden of losing their sibling. They know who Hope was, but that's all she was: a baby that only lived in Mommy's tummy.

I shudder, shaking my head to stop thinking of these thoughts.

"I'm going to go shower," I announce to Seiya, and he grunts in return. He has already managed to put on his shorts and begin to doze on the pillow when I go into our bathroom, eager to get under the warm stream of water, the one place that I can let myself be free.

Seiya thinks I need the shower to rinse off after we've had sex, but honestly, it's the only time in a month that I truly get to be alone. I make sure that I don't think about schedules, or work, or soccer games, or PTA shit when I'm in the shower at night. When I rinse off in the morning, it's literally just suds and go. This is my time to take a deep breath, use my favorite foaming body wash, and come down from my stressors.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the ground and walk into the hot shower, immediately blasted by water that I know is too hot for my body, but man, it feels good. Knots release in my limbs that I have become accustomed to, the droplets of hot water piercing my skin. In this moment, I truly feel alive.

I open up my body wash, _A Thousand Wishes_ by Bath and Body Works, and take in a greedy inhale. I've been using this body wash for the last five years, and each time I open it I can't help but take a whiff. It smells like champagne and peonies, it lathers like butter, and when I pair it with my accompanying body lotion, the scent sticks to me. In fact, I prefer it to harsh perfumes and sprays, always finding my body's chemistry does not mesh well with colognes.

To be perfectly honest, I actually feel less stressed out than I usually am. Ever since we hired our nanny and I didn't have to shuffle the kids to practices two, three times a week, I've actually found balance for the first time in five years. I'm home every night at 5:30. I can actually make a dinner that isn't poured out of a box. I've become more productive at work because I'm not dropping what I'm working on only to pick it up an hour later and hit my restart button.

To my surprise, Seiya put the wheels in motion and within a week, we had Kakyuu driving our kids to their sporting events right after school, or picking them up and bringing them back here. In fact, she has already in the short time she's worked for us surprised us with homemade treats, tidied up our kitchen area, helped Alex and Elsie with their homework, and truly befriended my children. I know it has only been two weeks, but this woman is a savior in my books. We pay her $40 cash for the day, and in return, she's a very happy college student only having to burn 3 hours out of her day for us.

Win-win.

Also, the fact that she is a duel Information Technology and Early Education major? I think we hit the jackpot in nannies.

I stand in the stream of water and bask in the silence, deciding to cease my thinking for the remainder. The water feels cathartic, washing away the monotony of my days. I close my eyes and listen to the soft music on my iPod shuffling, soft, classical music filling the bathroom void. I'm a sucker for classical music; it really began when I played the violin in school, but only grew in appreciation the older I became. Funny enough, I use classical music to calm my nerves at work when I'm stressed or on deadline. I find that my brainpower becomes more sharp, more concentrated when I'm streaming Beethoven, or Chopin, and especially Bach. How that man conducts an orchestra, it gives me chills. I've always wanted to go to the Orchestra. We have a pretty good one here in Seattle, but it's probably at the bottom of Seiya's list of activities for us to do together. I've never pushed on it, mainly because our time alone together is so infrequent. His family is in the Midwest, my parents live an hour away, and with our schedules, the kids schedules, and everything in between, date nights are usually us watching a movie on the couch.

At least it's something.

I feel the water temperature changing drastically, signaling to me the end of the hot water. Reluctantly, I turn off the faucet and open the shower curtain, wrap myself with a clean laundered towel, and make my way to the mirror, which is surprisingly unfogged, thanks to the fan and the cracked window combo I've mastered over the years. Mechanically, I twist off the lid to my moisturizer and scoop some into my fingertips, rubbing away at my dull skin, hoping to prevent any more wrinkles I know are impending in my future for a brief moment of time.

My fingers stop as I stare at my reflection. I can't help but scrutinize my appearance, from the dark circles, to the faint laugh lines encompassing my mouth, the canvas of my skin sadly paints the image of a tired, aging woman. My heart drops; I'm only 34. Surely wrinkles aren't supposed to arrive just yet, are they? Shaking my head, I pick up my brush and blow dryer and begin drying my hair. Wet hair and bedtime leave a disaster for me, so I take the five minutes to par-dry my hair. As I pull the strands of blonde through my brush, I can't help but inspect for grays. Turning the dryer off, I briefly part my hair, holding my breath in case I find one, before exhaling when I don't see one.

I shouldn't be feeling this old just yet. I mean, I get that I'm a mom, a wife, and I work to make a living, but I shouldn't be standing here, fretting over gray hair, or wrinkles, or anything. With that final thought, my eye catches the scale in the corner, but in favor of saving myself more heartache, I retreat into my bedroom. Seiya's out cold, Peter Thomas' voice still crooning forensics into the dead air, before I turn the TV off. I slip on my pajamas – a t-shirt and pair of worn out yoga pants – before I climb into bed.

As I close my eyes, I let out a discontent sigh.

Second Thursday of the month routine complete.

#

Clicking keys of the keyboard. Ringing phone. Printer beeping. Shuffling footsteps.

It is the sound of the office environment, noises I have become quite accustomed with; so much, that when I'm working on, well, pretty much anything, my mind completely drowns it out.

One noise I have not become accustomed to? Darien Shields. On his phone. All. The. Freaking. Time.

I swear, the day that they are able to adhere a Bluetooth chip into your brain, he is going to be the first person in line to get it installed. He is ALWAYS on that thing. I'm pretty sure he takes a leak and a conference call at the same time. But that's not even the worst of it! He has me filter out the call, then he _forwards_ the call to his cell phone so he can pace aimlessly around his office, the hallways, the lounge, wherever the man damn pleases to have a discussion!

Sometimes there will be a lull of 20, 30 minutes of the stale tune of office environment noises, but sure enough, when the phone rings, it's all disrupted. When it's a familiar colleague, a friend, a good client, he bellows out a "how the hell are you?!" His personality on the phone is so different from the one I've been accustomed to, which is so reserved and polished. Shit, maybe I should call him on the phone to have a discussion with him; maybe he'd be more open and friendly with me. It would be refreshing.

I shuffle together the papers that Darien has requested for his meeting with DiPonco Group, a big-time real estate development company in the area, that will be commencing after lunch. I hoist up all the bound books and collateral, determined to move all the paperwork into the meeting room in one attempt, and hobble my way down the hallway.

What I did not account for, however, was Darien, texting away on his phone, to walk clear into me, sending me tripping and down onto the ground. Thankfully I brace myself, but I hand in a heap of whitepaper that is officially ripped and needs to be reprinted and rebound. I wince in embarrassment and frustration as Darien hovers above me, concern etched on his face.

"Oh my God, are you okay Serena?" he asks, and for the first time, I can hear sincerity in his voice as I lift myself up off the ground.

"Mmhmm," I respond, my face completely flushed. _Way to have a klutz-attack, meatball brains!_ I look down to the heap of papers and start spouting a string of apologies. "I'll have them reprinted for you immediately, Sir," I bellow out.

"You're bleeding," he points out, and for the first time, I notice the sleeve on my arm tore and I have a scrape the entire length of my forearm.

"Shoot," I mutter softly as I inspect the torn fabric, more concerned over the destroyed top than I am my actual skin. "I think I have a jacket out in my car. I can wear that to the meeting, Sir," I announce, as I am supposed to take meeting minutes with the client.

He frowns as he surveys me, and I can feel tears burning at my eyes as I feel completely shamed under his watchful eye. I'm waiting for some kind of criticism, critique my running in to him, when he says something that knocks me off balance. "Our meeting is in two hours. If you can get those items reprinted and ready to go for our meeting, I'll call over to my personal shopper at Saks to get an outfit ready for you to pick up in an hour," he offers, and my eyes widen. Saks? As in, Saks Fifth Avenue?! Who does he think I am, Beyonce or something?! I can't afford Saks, let alone Banana Republic!

"Thank you for the offer, Sir, but I can't afford that," I reply meekly, wanting nothing more than to run in my tattered clothing to the ladies room. "I can mend the shirt at my desk," I reassure, recalling that I keep a small sewing kit in my desk for the inevitable button pop-off.

"It's on me," he reassures, and for a second, I feel my heart beat at his compassion. Me? In a Saks outfit? That I didn't have to pay for? Only in my wildest dreams! I'm about to open my mouth to thank him, when he adds "This account is too important for you to show up in torn clothing. Please, call Tammy in my contacts, tell her your size, and pass her over to me for the approval," he finishes transactionally. Part of me wants to frown that his generosity is more for appearances sake than he is caring about my ruined shirt, but still, I am beyond gracious, despite his motives.

"Thank you, Sir." I state as I pick up the papers on the floor. I dump the papers into the nearest shred bin, irritated that I wasted all my efforts and killed at least two trees, but most of me is in a rush of excitement.

I hardly ever get new clothes. Most of my clothing budget is spent on the kids, considering they grow out of their clothes at least two times a year. Kids fashion nowadays as well is also comparable to what adults wear: Nike. Justice. Abercrombie. Hollister. The amount that my daughter spends on a sweater costs me twice as much as my simplistic Payless-brand heels. It's highway robbery! But, for the sake of the kids, and my recalling how important Aeropostale and American Eagle apparel was during my teens, I let it slide. So, they get quality clothes, Seiya and I usually wear JC Penney, or Walmart, or whatever I can scoop up on the clearance rack at the Gap.

Once all the papers are removed from the ground, I scoot back over to my desk and immediately pull up Tammy at Sak's contact information. I feel excitement in my fingertips as I dial her number, only to have my heart quicken when we actually connect.

"Good morning," I reply to her formal greeting, "my name is Serena Kou. My boss, Darien Shields, requested I call you so that I can pick up an outfit within the next hour?"

"No problem," she responds. "May I get your size, please?"

"I'm a size 4."

"Shoe size?"

"Um, not really necessary, but size 7."

"Bra size?"

I redden. "34 C," I respond quietly, my eyes darting around to make sure no one has heard me.

"Height?

"Five-one."

"What is your hair color?"

"Uh, blonde?" I respond, thrown off by the question.

"Ok. Do you have any preferences? Patterns or colors you prefer not to wear?"

"Not particularly."

"Not a problem. Can you please pass me along to Darien so I can finalize the transaction? I will be ready with your apparel at 12:00," she advises, and my heart leaps again in excitement.

"Thank you! I will pass you to him now." I transfer the call over to Darien's cell, and he, once again, replies with a very kind and exuberating "how are you?!" Damn, even his stylist gets more of a greeting than I do. I shake my head, letting the fleeting thought go. I'm getting new clothes. Me! New clothes! I want to spin in my chair and kick my legs in excitement. But, in an attempt to get the next hour moving so I can go slip in to something a hell of a lot nicer than I've ever owned, I channel my energy into reprinting all of the documents and devise a plan to get two hours of work condensed into the next forty-five minutes.

Hey, where there's a will, there's a way, right?

#

Lita has insisted to accompany me to Saks', which, happily, is only two blocks away from our office. It's certainly one of the perks of working in downtown Seattle; you're in close proximity to nearly everything.

I've walked past this location many times when going to Starbucks or Five Guys for lunch, but I've never stepped foot. When I clasp on the brass door handle, I feel my nerves flutter. This is the kind of store for people with money or seriously bad shopping habits, not me, not my conservative, cheap self. My disheveled look is inferior, which is prevalent when I see the store clerk eye my appearance from head to toe. Ignoring it, I go right to the surveyor and ask to for Tammy Whitler.

"She is on the second floor, Women's Department," the clerk replies, as if they think I've gone nuts asking for her directly. Lita immediately links my arm and steers me away from the judgmental clerk, and I feel the rush of excitement come up again as we ascend the escalator.

"I cannot WAIT to see what you're gonna be wearing, girl!" Lita chimes as we coast up the hill.

"I know!" I reply with equal vigor. "This is probably the first time I'm getting new work clothes since 2013," I muse truthfully. I let out a laugh when I see Lita's horrified face.

"Holy fuck, Serena, seriously? Do you ever do anything for yourself?" she exclaims, and I can't help put feel the sting of the words.

"No, not really," I sigh as I step off the escalator and into the world of Saks women's designer clothing. In this moment, I am awed by the high ceilings, gleaming white pillars, and rows upon rows of clothing far too magnificent for my wallet. I take in a deep breath, imaginging for a moment that I am that woman who can peruse the racks, having a shopper take items to the register and hold them for me while I go and seek out the perfect accompanying purse.

My daydream is cut short when a tall, voloumptuous blonde steps in front of me. "Are you Serena?" she asks, and I immediately click that this must be Tammy. No wonder why she's a personal shopper; she can probably sell anyone anything with her curvatious figure and flawless ciomplexion. I mentally sigh in envy, but don't allow it to reach my features. I respond with a smile.

"I am," I reply with my hand extended, shaking Tammy's soft one once she places her hand in mind.

"Come this way," she instructs, and Lita and I follow her over to a dressing area filled with mirrors and pedestals.

Lita takes a seat as I stand awkwardly by her side, and I can only imagine how expensive the chairs must be from the golden thread embroidery upon the rich, ivory fabric. Tammy suddenly links my arm, steering me in the direction of one of the rooms.

"I know you're short on time; Mr. Shields explained to me that you have a one o'clock meeting you cannot miss, so I'm going to have you step into this room and try on the pieces I've left on the hooks for you." As soon as she finishes speaking, she directs me into the mirrored room, and I immediately see three items hanging: a tan colored pencil skirt, an off-white, short-sleeved blouse with a ribbon tie attached, and a matching colored camisole. I finger the material, relishing in the soft qualities of the fabric, when my finger grazes a price tag. My eyes nearly bulge; $575 for a skirt?! I shuffle the item off of the hanger and look at the tag; who or what the hell is a Max Mara, and how is a piece of fabric this expensive?

A knock at the door takes me out of my disbelief. "How is everything fitting so far?" Tammy inquires.

"Uh," I stammer, "are these pieces… okay to try on?" I ask hesitantly. No way Darien was thinking this much for an outfit. I'm sure he meant something along the lines of a total of $80 or $100, not a freaking _five hundred dollar skirt!_

"Of course, ma'am. I spoke with Mr. Shields and he has given permission for all the items selected," she coos, and I shake my head with further shock.

"Okay," I respond slowly. I shuffle out of my Old Navy trousers and remove my tattered blouse, honestly pleased that I don't have to look at either of them again. I've had those items since my college internship years; I'm shocked they've lasted this long.

First, I slip on the camisole, the silky fabric clinging to my body like a second skin. The neckline scoops delicately with the faintest hint of lace, coupled with extremely thin straps. Next, I put on the tie neck blouse, lace accents and ruffled sleeves of silk making this shirt truly exquisite. Taking the loose, silk strands, I tie them into a fluffy bow, allowing it to fall on my chest. Lastly, I slide on the pencil skirt, tucking in the top and camisole into it, before turning around and zippering it up. The skirt is camel colored, chic and sophisticated, and when I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. I look refined; polished, and suddenly desperate to put on some concealer and mascara to truly complement the clothing. Taking in a deep, excited breath, I pull down on the handle and walk out to Lita and Tammy, my cheeks blushing when Lita openly gawks at the choice.

"Wow," Lita exclaims as she rushes to my side, as if she's in more disbelief than myself. "You look hot!" I giggle behind my hand as I continue to stare into the mirror, coming to terms that not only is this outfit more expensive than my entire wardrobe, but that I absolutely love it. From the ruffles, to the silk, to the concealed zipper of the skirt, the whole thing screams indulgence.

"Lovely. The shoes I've picked out match perfectly with this outfit," Tammy adds, and my jaw drops further.

"Shoes?" I inquire as I look over to my DSW bargain black heels. I look down and realize that in no way will those match this outfit, and can't help but let on an awe when she pulls out suede, strappy, praline colored heels.

"I thought these would go perfectly," she insists as she beckons me to the chair. I sit down, ready to slip them on, but she is in front of me in an instant, slipping them on my feet as if I were Cinderella. And in this moment, I truly feel like my fairy godmother has come to me, cloaking me in the façade of luxury to allow myself a night of self-indulgence. When she removes herself from my foot, I exhale in wonder.

"They're gorgeous," I exclaim as I twist my foot around, drinking in the beauty of the shoes. Tammy smiles widely, clearly pleased with her selection and my response to it all.

"You look perfect. Come, see how the shoes match your outfit," she insists as she leads me back to the mirrors, and she is absolutely correct. I can't help but continue to stare at myself. My mindset shifts from awe to distress. I don't deserve this. Who am I to be wearing something like this? I really should take it all off, put it all back, and return to work and mend my shirt. It will be fine; I am a really good seamstress. I've repaired my clothes for years, after all. It's much cheaper than going out and buying new ones. I gulp hard, and although I tried to will them away, see tears pricking my eyes.

"Serena?" Lita asks suddenly, by my side in an instant when she sees my redding eyes. "Are you okay?"

I wipe feverishly. "Yes, yes, sorry, I'm being stupid," I dismiss her.

She shakes her head knowingly. "No, you're not. You deserve this, Serena," she replies, and I can't help but laugh.

"Not really, but I'm not in the position to argue with the boss," I laugh as I shake off the foolish feeling of feeling sorry for myself.

"If everything fits, which it appears it does, I will go ahead and put the sale on Mr. Shields' account," Tammy softly interjects, concluding our time here. "I will give you a bag for your clothing in the dressing room," she adds. Part of me wants to leave it here and never see it again, but alas, while the shirt is probably a lost cause, my pants and shoes likely will continue to be in my rotation of terrible, aging work clothes.

"Thank you," I state, and I watch as she removes my prior workwear and place it into one of their shopping bags. She passes the bag off to me with a smile.

"You look wonderful. I am sure Mr. Shields will be pleased. Come again and visit me any time you would like a new outfit, I am more than happy to help," she concludes as she hands me her business card as well. I am about to object and state how I'll never, ever be able to come back to this store, but I simply nod my head and smile.

As Lita and I leave, I feel myself standing taller, walking with confidence, and Lita is fawning over me as we make the quick stroll back to the office.

"My God, can Mr. Shields run into me and destroy my outfit, too? I am so jealous!" she squeaks as we hustle back to the office. It is almost 1:00 and the whole point of this endeavor was for me to be back and ready to take meeting minutes. However, I cannot help but laugh.

"I'll definitely take this outfit over my other one any day of the week. Do you think this has to be dry cleaned?" I wonder out loud, and Lita nods her head in response.

"Oh, absolutely. You never, ever launder your own shit from Saks. Ever," she states knowingly.

We turn into the lobby of our building. "Where do you usually shop?" I ask her, suddenly realizing I don't really know where she gets her clothing, despite how much I love her look.

"Express, White House Black Market, sometimes I'll score a deal at Neiman Marcus or Nordstom. I'll have to take you shopping one day," she adds. We reach the elevator and ascend it in silence, and I can't help but ponder the open invitation.

I want to accept. Open my mouth and say yes a hundred times over. But, I find my lips frozen, unwilling to move.

Instead, I stretch a tight smile, knowing I will never commit to shopping for myself that isn't outside a clearance rack. I've committed my clothing budget to my family; I can't go back on that. I can't allow myself to take away from their needs.

The elevator doors separate, beckoning us back to reality.

"Knock him dead," Lita winks as we start to separate.

"Don't you mean them?" I ask with an eyebrow raise.

She says nothing, only continues to smile and walk away.


	5. Chapter 4

_I've been meaning to tell you…_

He pulls at my sash, untying the robe that keeps my nakedness confined against the thin, silky material of scarlet.

 _I've got this feelin' that won't subside._

His fingers trail down my chest, tantalizingly slow as he reaches the space between my breast, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat.

 _I look at you and I fantasize…_

They continue their decent, lower, and lower, until he's reached the warmth growing between my legs. I try to let out a growl, but it comes out as a muffled noise instead.

 _You're mine tonight._

I tip my shoulders back, the robe sliding down my arms in ease, presenting myself to him. Allowing him to look, to touch, to do whatever he wants with me.

 _Now I've got you in my sights…_

He wraps his arms possessively around my waist, pulling me into him.

 _…with these…_

He burrows his head into my neck, kissing it, nipping me, and I let out another odd sound. His hands trace the curves of my body, those long, invoking fingers of his leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path.

 _Hungry eyes._

He backs away, and I pout. I'm quick to stop, though, because he stretches out a captivating smile. I drink it in, his lips inviting, his cheekbones slightly rising, his firm jaw softened at the gesture. I'm about to reach out and stroke his face, when he lifts up his forearm to his face…

… and bites into a Snickers bar.

 _One look at you and I can't disguise_

"You're not you, when you're… hungry," he says with a heavy Italian accent. I raise my eyebrow at him as he continues to eat the candy bar, licking his lips, slowly and commercially biting into it with strings of caramel stretched between him and the processed candy bar. When the hell did he start speaking in an Italian accent? Shields isnt' Italian. I'm pretty sure that Shields is of Dutch ancestry, actually.

 _I've got hungry eyes-_

My eyes flutter open slowly and I groan. Slapping the clock radio, I instantly turn off the tune that changed my extremely sexy dream into a stupid rendition of a commercial.

Not that I should be dreaming about my boss. I know I shouldn't be. But damn, ever since that meeting, I can't help but think about him. And not sexually… usually. I mean, he is insanely handsome. Well groomed, built, tall… but regardless, it all started with that stupid comment Lita made. Knock him dead. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Impress him, I guess? That's how I took it. So, before the meeting, I dug out some old mascara found at the bottom of my purse, slipped a small amount on my lashes, applied some cherry Chapstick for a sheer, faint rosy lip color, and walked into the meeting, laptop in hand.

I was the first in the room, which I expected. Darien brought the clients in, which was also expected. He talked, they talked… all… expected. I took notes, diligently, quietly.

But, then I caught it.

There was a… look.

He was talking, his fingers wrapped around the silver ballpoint pen, his chin resting on the top of his hand. I was clicking away on my laptop, listening intently, until I caught it. His gaze on me. Those blue eyes catching mine, holding mine, as he continued to talk. It lasted maybe five, ten seconds tops, until he dropped the connection, turning his attention back to David LiPomco, CEO of the LiPomco Group. At first, I thought I was imagining things. Maybe he made eye contact because the point he was making was extremely important and needed to notate. Therefore, rather than overthink things, I chalked it up to that, and continued with my notetaking.

However, when whey concluded their two-hour session shortly thereafter, Darien escorting the clients down to the lobby, I saw the look again.

It was a quick head-to-toe scan, one that could easily be missed if you weren't actively watching. Hell, the only reason I caught it was because I was bidding my own goodbyes to the client. He clearly, and totally, checked me out.

Me. He checked ME out. Oh, my heart leapt at that! I haven't been checked out in ages! Then again, I never really dress to get checked out, but man, what a confidence boost! I felt like I was injected with some sort of serum that just made me… happy. So freaking happy.

Ever since that little moment, I've tried making more of an effort with my appearance. Not that I was doing it for him. After all, I am married. But that look, his small gesture, it reminded me of how good I used to feel when I would take the time to focus on my appearance. Back in my teens and early twenties, I used to spend hours getting ready. I would curl my hair, I would put on makeup, I would wear cute outfits that were trending at that time. However, as the years have gone on, I traded in cute for convenience, and ultimately stopped trying.

Well, I am done with that lazy phase of mine. So, the last few mornings, I've been making an effort to pair my outfits, style my hair, and apply the slightest hint of makeup. My new best friend? Concealer. Just dabbing on a little bit under my eyes makes me feel five years younger. And I know it's mental, but once I see those dark circles disappear when blended into the makeup, I instantly feel better.

Who would have thought that Darien Shields would inspire me to want to feel this good about myself again?

Rolling out of bed, I shuck my pajamas off and slip on my workout clothing, day 50 of the 80 Day Obsession program beckoning me to the downstairs TV. While I'd rather lay in my bed and analyze why I had a sexy dream about my boss, I decide to get my sweat on. Cardio Flow calls to me, a miserable, repetitive, obnoxious workout that I've grown to hate the more I work myself into the program. Mina told me I'd love it as I got further into the weeks of this Beachbody exercise routine. It was her favorite because it was quick, involved no weights, and with it being on a Saturday, she could do it whenever, not just around the new baby's workout. If I didn't have to play taxi-cab driver every Saturday beginning at 8:30, I probably would feel the same way. But, alas, life is life, and so I still get this workout in, only at 6:30 instead of 5. And I hate every single minute of it.

Speaking of Mina, I have a hair appointment with her this afternoon, and while I typically go in for a quick trimming, I rather want to shake things up again. Nothing drastic, just a subtle refresh. Maybe an extra inch off or something. That would change up the look a bit.

I turn my attention back to Autumn Calabrese, cursing her along the way as I do inchworms. God, I hate these. My knees can never seem to stay in position when I need to do this one move. Begrudgingly, I push through, much to my annoyance, when I eventually see Alex watching me in the hallway, laughing as I do the terrible Grizzly Bear ab walk.

"Joining me?" I ask him breathless as he laughs at my movements.

"Nope!" he cackles. "Your butt is in the air!" He giggles and runs off, and I shake my head at his amusement. I wrap up the workout, definitely dampened with sweat, when Seiya shuffles down the stairs, his black hair sticking out every which way, similar to Alex's.

"Kind of loud, don't you think?" he grumbles as he watches me towel off. I shrug and turn away, not really caring about his opinions. At least I exercise.

"It's after 7. Who cares?" I say to no one in particular as I turn off the television. Making my way into the kitchen, I watch as Seiya mindlessly pours a bowl of cereal and take a seat next to Alex, who is happily indulging in a package of store-bought mini muffins. I smile at the picturesque scene of father and son both quietly eating when I suddenly remember that Alex has a soccer game this afternoon.

"Hey, just a reminder, I have a hair appointment today," I relay to Seiya. He seems unbothered by it.

"Okay."

"I'll need you to drop him off at his soccer game while I'm there. His game is at 2:15, so he needs to be there—"

"—an hour before. Yeah, I know."

I nod. "Okay, good." For some reason I was expecting some sort of push-back for him dropping him off at his game, so I'm pleasantly satisfied when Seiya continues to eat and not say anything further. I grin; perhaps today will be a good day.

#

"The usual?" Mina asks as she starts running her fingers through my hair. The 'usual' is typically a half-inch trim, wash, and dry. No frills, no fuss. It's predictable and boring, maintainable and easy.

So I'm slightly surprised when I actually say what I was thinking earlier. "No. Actually, I was thinking of shaking it up a bit."

Mina smiles. "One inch?" she winks, knowing me all too well. We've been friends, and neighbors, for the last eight years since her family moved in. Our boys are the best of friends, which is extremely convenient for both of us when it comes to meets and games. Happily, our kids budding friendship evolved into our own friendship, finding a common love of coffee, shopping, and overall similar personalities.

"Actually, I was thinking of doing something different."

She stops running her fingers through my hair. "No way."

"Am I that predictable?" I ask with a frown.

"Sere, you've been getting the same cut since 2010."

"I know," I sigh. "I just, I don't know. What do you think?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. What do you think?" I practically plead.

Rather than answer me, she shoots me a look of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reassure her. "I just, you know, for once want to do something a little different. I'm always doing stuff for the kids, or for Seiya. I'd like to finally let myself have something, even if it's just something different with my hair."

Mina smiles. "About freakin' time! Yes! Okay. I found this warm and cool balayage color and technique I've been dying to try on a natural blonde. Nothing drastic, but it will be an obvious change." She passes me her phone to see her vision, a icons of Pinterest photos of the hairstyle immediately on her screen. As I scroll through, I can't help but feel my heart beat wildly. This is perfect; nothing too crazy, but a look that it is truly a newer style for myself.

"I love it. It's just enough," I say with an approving smile as I hand her back her phone. She squeals as she slips her phone back into her pocket, fussing over my hair once again.

"Seiya is going to go nuts when he sees this!" she exclaims as she begins mixing color. My smile almost drops, but I know better.

"Maybe," I reply instead, despite knowing he won't really care.

If he notices at all.

Three hours later, my hair is softer, blonder, curled, and I feel like a freaking princess. No, I feel more like a shampoo model at the end of the commercial where she whips her head around dramatically and these "real bouncing curls" ripple in slow motion. I feel confident. I want to take pictures and post them online and see if my friends notice.

At least, I felt like that for about 5 minutes.

"Kind of late, isn't it?" a grunt of a husband states as he gets to work on seasoning the chicken he has laid out on the counter.

"I told you, I had a hair appointment," I reminded him as I place my purse on the console table.

"For three hours?" he replies with an eye-roll. "What the hell do you need done that lasts three hours?"

I sigh. "Nothing, Seiya."

"No, seriously, I want to know. Three hours? For what, Mina to cut your bangs? Does it take three hours for her to precisely trim your hair above your eyebrow?"

"Stop it," I say softly, my heart constricting.

"Or does she wash your hair in slow motion like a television commercial?"

"Stop," I insist, my voice hardening with anger. What the hell was the big deal?

"I mean you go in, you get a trim, you get washed up, and you're done. Yes? Or no?" he probes, and I feel tears begin to fall out.

"Because I got my hair colored today, you fucking idiot," I finally spit at him before I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway. God, what a pretentious asshole! I hear him shouting something about cost and waste of money, but I don't care to hear anymore. I fly up the stairs and into my room, well aware that the kid's doors are closed, before burying my head in my pillow.

Why does he always do this to me? Knock me down, make me feel small, worthless, insignificant. Why am I not allowed to have a moment to do something nice for myself? God, I'm so tired of it. Sick and tired of the fighting, the arguing, the snide commentary, the hurtful exchanges. The only time we seem to be cordial to one another is that stupid day we have sex, and even then over the last few months it has been dull and boring.

I'm so fucking sick of this life.

Like I predicted, he never noticed. He only cared about the cost and the time spent away, all negative, rather than tell me that it looks beautiful. Hell, I would have settled for nice. Not a kind word has been spoken from that man in months. What the hell have I done so wrong that he treats me so lousy lately? I am attentive. I take care of the house. I work hard, make good money. I am the mother of his children.

I hear him calling for everyone to come for dinner, and I feel my heart bleed as I know I have to show my face. Slipping on a familiar mask, I wipe my eyes and sit up, ready to play the part of a happy woman when I feel like I'm dying inside.

#

I am still a grumpy mess as I drive Elsie to her dance competition. Who am I kidding; I'm always miserable on dance competition days. 7:00 in the morning on a Sunday I have to be at the damn auditorium for her to meet with her group, and with Seiya and I not on speaking terms at the moment, he was not an instrumental part of helping out at all this morning.

Meaning, no coffee.

So, I lovingly coerced my daughter to leave 10 minutes early with the promise of Starbucks, to which she happily accepted, knowing I'm not the one who usually lets her get frilly drinks before a competition. But, I'm desperate for caffeine. And a shot of whiskey, but for now, the caffeine will do.

I yawn into my fist as we approach the counter, the barista behind the register smiling sympathetic at me. "Venti Americano, splash of heavy cream and one shot of white chocolate mocha," I order, the lifelessness in my voice briefly startling me. God, I sound like a transaction. In an attempt to sound _human_ , I add a "please and thank you." I turn to my daughter. "What do you want, baby?"

"Can I get a strawberries and crème frappuchino? The new one with the chunks of strawberries?" Elsie asks the barista, who smiles back.

"You got it. Anything else?"

"Can you make that two Americanos, exact same way?" a familiar voice behind me booms. I turn around to no other than Darien Shields, unfairly dressed at such an hour in a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that makes his features more illustrious than I have ever imagined before.

"Sure thing. That will be $14.50. Name for the order?"

"Darien," he says as he passes the card over to the green-aproned gentlemen.

"You didn't have to do that," I start to say, only for Darien to give me one of those earth-shattering smiles I've begun to notice more often.

"It's nothing," he says with a smile as he puts his returned card back in his wallet. "Early morning for a Sunday," he adds as we shift over to the counter. I nod.

"Yes. Today is Elsie's competition across the way at the auditorium," I say as I place my hands on my daughters shoulders, which are currently cloaked in her black and red warm-up's. I watch as Darien looks at my preteen daughter, back at me, and then back to her, the connection of my failed attempt at law school clearly registering. _Yup. Dropped out of school because I got pregnant. You finally figured it out._ "Elsie, this is my boss, Mr. Shields. Mr. Shields, this is my daughter, Elsie." I formally greet them.

"Darien," he corrects with a smile. "It's nice to meet you. So, a competition? That sounds exciting. How many dances are you competing in?" he asks Elsie smoothly, and I'm glad he didn't try to pry about my personal life in front of my girl. Then again, I never suspected him for being the rude, blunt type. But, on that flipside, I also hardly know him.

"Three," Elsie answers proudly. "Normally I'm supposed to be in two, but I got bumped up to the junior competition level last month so I'm in an extra dance this year."

"Wow, that's impressive," Darien replies with what seems like genuine interest, and Elsie starts gushing about her routine to Darien when the coffees begin to arrive.

"Well I am sure you are going to do a great job," Darien says as he takes his coffee from the counter. I start to giggle as I watch Elsie blush.

"Thank you," she says as she holds on to her sugary apparition of a drink. "And thank you for my frap!"

"You're very welcome. And you're very polite. It's a great trait to take with you as you get older. Keep it up," he says as he winks at her, only for her to blush further and me start to laugh harder.

"Thank you," I finally say with a smile once the laughter subsides.

"You're welcome," he replies with a rich smile that reminds me of hot cocoa on a chilly day, instantly warming my soul from the chill that they were in originally. Before he turns to leave, he adds "did you do something different with your hair?"

My jaw slightly drops as I stammer a response. "Uh, yeah. Yesterday," I manage to get out as I play with a piece of trimmed, still slightly curled, hair.

He nods. "It looks really nice on you." With that, he pushes the glass doors open, leaving Elsie and I in the quiet lobby of the Starbucks, both of us with a goofy smile on our faces.

I'm about to announce our leaving when Elsie suddenly shouts "that's your BOSS? He's hot!" My face is about ten times redder than it already turned when he noticed my hair, so I respond with a loving shove towards the door.

"What do you know about hot guys young lady?! You're too young for that!" I tease as I effectively push her out the door, laughing as she continues to ramble about how 'drop dead gorgeous' he is.

And she's absolutely right.

* * *

 **A/N:** Um. Can I say that you guys are amazing? For the last few weeks, I've been really struggling, wondering if what I'm trying to write was any good. To be completely honest, I thought of abandoning this fic. But you guys, you sweet, kind hearted, supportive guys, helped pick me up and encouraged me to keep going. Seriously, thank you!

This is the last chapter that it's a little dull in the beginning. And to make sure I'm good on my promise, I'm throwing out my buzzword of a preview: holiday party.

Did you like this chapter? Was a little stale? What suggestions to you have? Please let me know!


	6. Chapter 5

There's an extra bounce in my step today.

Everyone around me at work is just as energetic; at least, they look it to me. The day of the holiday party always puts all of us in a good mood. For starters, we close at noon; a paid half-day to go home and pack our bags. Afterwards, most, if not all of us go to a hotel that the Company pays for 50% of your room and get ready, meet up with friends, have a drink at the bar, and so on. From there, a shuttle bus picks us up in batches and we go to this beautiful, historical mansion that has been converted into a party venue, consisting of three floors housing carving stations, chocolate fountains, a large dance floor, and top shelf liquor.

It's a night that everyone, from the mailroom staff to the retired partners, cut completely loose. This year, with Damien Shields' retirement and Darien's arrival, they've managed to take the party up a level further: a full blown martini bar.

I look at the clock on the computer and smile broadly when I see that it is 11:45. Seiya, who is officially on winter break, is driving the kids up to stay with my Mother for the weekend. It's the one weekend we take advantage of having a kid-free home. We spend the night at the hotel, go out for a quiet breakfast the next day, and go Christmas shopping the following afternoon. It's a nice tradition we've established over the last six years.

I feel my smile slightly falter as I staple my report. Seiya did not look too thrilled this morning when packing the kids up in the car. To say he's been off more-so than usual lately is an understatement. He seems miserable, and he won't tell me why. I purse my lips and let out a slow breath when I think about how I tried asking him the other night, only to receive a cold shoulder and an icy response. Clearly, he is going through something. Why he won't tell me, I can't figure out for the life of me.

This party is coming at the right time. Maybe a night away from our responsibilities and our routine will give him the jolt I think he needs. After all, it's not just me who gets exhausted from our everyday jobs. He works hard, he has his fair share of household tasks, he takes care of our kids, too. It would be unfair to say he has it easy, when I know he doesn't. With his winter break here as well, maybe he'll perk up and become the Seiya that is my man, my husband; not this empty vessel who has recently replaced him.

"Delivery!" Neph, the interoffice courier, interrupts my thoughts as he holds up a dark-gray garment bag. I look over at the bag and squeal, my floor length _Rent The Runway_ dress currently protected by the beat-up gray fabric of the industrial-strength bag.

"Yay! Thank you!" I exclaim in excitement as I take the bag from Neph. He wiggles his eyebrows as he darts his eyes to the bag.

"So, tell me, tell me," he gushes as he fishes for details.

"It's a Chiara Boni," I begin, and I start to smirk as he lets out a wishful sigh, "mermaid style, all black with lace on top that wraps to mid-back."

"Mermaid style? Damn, girl," he whistles.

"I guess it has some type of body shaper built in so your curves really enhance, which, I need," I giggle as I spin my chair, holding on to the designer gown like it was my child. "It was $140 to rent, so it better be beautiful."

"Mmm, for Chiara Boni, that's a steal. I can't wait to see it."

"What are you wearing," I ask him, Neph's excitement infectious as he describes his outfit, consisting of a burgundy velvet jacket, silk lapels, and a paisley pocket square. His vision screams "Nephrite," one of the kindest, gentlest, and fashion-savvy people I know.

And, he's not gay. In fact, he's married with two kids to one of the sweetest women I have ever met.

"Is Molly coming tonight?" I ask, receiving a vigorous head nod in response.

"Yup. She rented a dress as well, but I believe it's cocktail length."

"I'm excited to see her tonight! It's been a while," I reply, thinking of the petite brunette, who happens to be the Chief Financial Officer to a local accounting firm.

"She is really looking forward to tonight; she's been slammed at work lately and is looking forward to a night out," he responds with tenderness.

My eyes glance to the clock, grinning again when I see it's five minutes to noon. "I gotta wrap this up so I can get out of here, so I'll see you tonight?" I interject, breaking our conversation. He nods his head, bids a see-ya, and heads through the remainder of the cubicles dropping off packages and more garment bags.

Man, whoever invented is a freaking genius. I see at least 20 dress bags on his cart. They must make a killing this time of year.

Placing my bag lovingly over my cubby wall, I dive back into the final paragraphs of my project, satisfied when I've reached the end of the 75-page document. Just as I am about to shut down, a shadow hovers over my screen. I tilt my head back, assuming it's Neph, only to feel my cheeks tint when it turns out it's Darien.

"Your dress for tonight?" he asks as he looks at the garment bag.

I nod. "Yeah, just got dropped off about 15 minutes ago."

He nods back. "Very nice. So, you'll be there tonight then."

"Absolutely. I'm on the planning committee, so I'm actually going to be giving out the gifts tonight."

"Oh, I had no idea," he responds. "So, you're partially responsible for the martini bar tonight?" he teases with a grin, his brilliant white teeth peeking out underneath the curl of his lip.

I throw up my hands in mock-surrender. "Guilty."

He laughs, and my heart begins to pound at the exquisite, deep sound. "Nice, nice," he repeats. "Well, I will see you there, then?"

"You bet. Is there anything you need before I take off?" I ask, making sure I'm in the clear to leave for the day.

"Nah, go get ready. I'll see you tonight," he grins once more before leaving my workstation. My smile remains long after he leaves, through shutting my computer down and gathering up my coat and purse. I don't think Darien has ever come over to my work area to have a conversation outside of work-related needs. Despite it being short and to the point, it was, nonetheless, a conversation.

A step towards trust? Friendship, even? Even though I feel my cheeks burn slightly, I push the other feeling aside and focus more on the excitement of getting ready for a fun evening tonight. But as I grab my bag, I can't help but wonder;

 _Will Darien like this dress?_

#

I'm in our room packing our overnight bag when I hear Seiya pull into the driveway. I peek out the window, smiling, trying to redirect any and all thoughts of Darien Shields and channeling them into spending a much-needed night away with my husband. It appears he's wrapping up a call, so I move on, placing our folded-up pajamas into the suitcase currently on our bed. Mechanically, I move over to my dresser and begin to gather up make-up essentials, daydreaming of different looks I hope to achieve with my eyeshadow. After all, Pinterest is an amazing guide, and I found a tutorial on how to create a ruby smoky-eye that I am eager to test out.

The door closing downstairs pulls me out of my thoughts, accompanied by the shuffle of feet up the stairwell. Seiya emerges in our doorway, appearing none too happy, much to my dismay.

"Everything okay?" I ask as I drop my makeup into a cosmetic bag.

He sighs. "Yeah, I just have a headache."

I frown. "Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee?" I ask, thinking maybe he needs a jolt of caffeine.

"No, I'll be fine," he sighs again before laying down on the bed. He crosses his arm over his eyes and stretches out, silence filling the room briefly before he inquires about what time we are leaving.

"I'd like to leave by 3:00 to get checked in. I need to be dressed and ready to leave the hotel by 6."

"But I thought the party doesn't begin until 7?" he counters, and I frown.

"Remember, I'm on the planning committee this year?" I remind him.

"Oh, right." He rolls onto his side, his eyes still closed, and I resume packing.

"Do you know which suit you want to bring?" I ask after about five minutes of silence.

"Um, the black one," he mumbles.

"Shirt color?"

"Whatever you think looks good," he defaults to me. Pursing my lips at the color choices, I choose the red one and a slim, black tie, thinking how his shirt will complement my eye makeup. Little pops of red for the holidays. I grin at the choice and place them gently on the bed before rustling through his drawers, grabbing his necessities. After about 15 more minutes of packing, I zip up the bag and place his suit in my garment bag before I proceed to wake Seiya up from his doze.

"Hey, come on, time to leave," I say with a gentle shake. He mumbles something and flops over. I shake my head and bring our bags downstairs, placing them at the kitchen table by the back door. Giving him a few minutes to emerge, I begin going around the house and making sure everything is turned off, knowing we won't be back until later the next day. When 5 minutes go by and he hasn't come down, I call the same message up the stairwell to him.

Silence.

My shoulders drop in annoyance. I ascend the stairwell and make the way to our bedroom, where Seiya is still napping. Annoyed, I shake at him harder, hardly feeling bad when he lets out a grunt that sounds quite similar to the word 'what.'

"Can we go now? You can finish your nap at the hotel," I state, annoyance definitely carrying in my words. I stare at him as he begins to shift, lifting himself up from the bed into a seated position.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles as he begins to show signs of life, and I am satisfied enough that I make my way downstairs and to the coat closet. I slip on my charcoal pea coat, the nicer of my two winter jackets, and begin to slip on my gloves when I hear him shuffle down the stairwell slowly. He rubs his hands over his face, as if he's wiping off signs of fatigue.

"Why are you so tired?" I ask as I slide on the second glove. He shrugs his shoulders, like it's enough of an answer. I follow him down the hallway, watching as he slips his jacket on that he left on top of the chair from when he arrived home earlier. "Is everything okay?" I ask again.

"Why do you keep asking if everything is okay? I told you, I'm fine," he snaps. I roll my eyes at the response.

"Clearly, you're not, otherwise you wouldn't be so freaking short with me lately," I retort, and I watch as his eyes widen slightly, like I'm starting to unveil some sort of truth. We stare at one another for a moment, his mouth opening slightly, before it snaps shut.

"Let's just go," he finally says as he tears his stare away, grabbing the bags and carrying them towards the back door. I watch as he passes me and goes into the garage to load the car, but I can't help but wonder what he's holding back.

What isn't he telling me?

#

I hit pause on the YouTube video to slide my eyeliner against my waterline. Stepping back from the mirror, I grin when I see that I have somewhat successfully replicated a shimmery, ruby red smoky eye. The eyeliner I recently picked up, a liquid liner complete with a winged stamp on the end, completely nailed this look. Lord knows it would take me at least 4 hours to attempt to do symmetrical wings. Oh, who am I kidding? I likely would have never been able to do it.

Nodding to myself that my eyes are all set, I begin to take out the old-school curlers I have pinned in my hair, allowing the soft ringlets to fall around my face. Once I pull all the rollers out, I begin to comb my hair back before pulling my hair off to the side. Once in place, I take some bobbypins and begin to pin at the curls, framing them in place so I have a little height to my crown, but soft curls falling over my shoulder. Once I feel my look is somewhat in place, I begin to spray hairspray like a madwoman, hoping that my hair cooperates through at least half of the night. When the aerosol cloud disappears, I look back to my reflection once more, and the vision I had hoped and planned for weeks has actually come to life.

As much as I want to giggle and squeal, I channel my energy into applying my lipcolor, opting to go with a tinted shimmery gloss. Feeling confident, I step out of the bathroom in a strapless bra and my thong and check on Seiya. Of course, as I should have expected, he is laying on the bed in his suit pants and undershirt, aimlessly flipping through the channels on the television.

"I should be ready to leave in fifteen minutes," I call to him softly, hoping that he'll look up and notice the effort I've put in to myself.

"'kay," he responds, his eyes still boring holes into the flatscreen. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to not allow myself get upset, before I retreat to the bathroom once more. Not even a look. He couldn't tear his eyes away for the TV to even look up. I swallow hard, shaking my head, repeating to myself that I'm not going to let his sour attitude ruin my mood.

Still, hearing something, even a 'you look nice,' would have been more than enough.

Turning to the garment bag, I unzip the flap, revealing the dress I have been daydreaming of since I placed the order for it weeks ago. I allow it to fall to the ground before stepping into it, lifting it over my curves and shuffling into the sleeves. Using the mirror, I fix the boat-lined neck, the lace hugging my shoulders while fusing with the cap sleeves. Once I feel the sleeves are set, I pull at the ruching, adjusting the areas that I feel are more of my trouble zone.

Pleased with the dress, I walk out of the bathroom and slip on my favorite black pumps, knowing I'll be on my feet all night. I make my way over to the full length mirror and scrutinize my appearance, sliding my hands down my sides and my stomach, suddenly feeling concerned the dress might be too fitted for my mom-bod.

"Do I look okay?" I finally ask Seiya, turning to him for his opinion. He tosses a look to me before turning back to ESPN.

"Yeah, you look fine," he says. "You ready?"

I press my lips together tightly, wanting to say more, ask what the hell is wrong with him. But, for the sake of the evening, I bite my emotions back. "Yeah," I croak while reaching for my coat, feeling myself fail at holding back my feelings. What's worse, he doesn't notice; instead, he shuffles off of the bed and slides his suitcoat and jacket on before putting on his loafers.

We make the descent to the lobby in silence. As the elevator takes us down, I can't help but reminisce about years prior. Even last year at this time we got a little frisky before going to the party. He was always so excited to come to this event and have a fun night out. What on Earth happened from last year to today? When did we become so lifeless to each other?

I go to open my mouth to say something, but the elevator dings its arrival on the first floor. Swallowing my words yet again, we step into the lobby, familiar faces conjuring in the open area. I slip on the mask, and so does Seiya, because suddenly we've transformed into a whole different dynamic, saying our hellos to acquaintances we've familiarized ourselves with throughout the years of my employment. I spot Lita, who is currently sipping a glass of white wine, standing next to one of the paralegals in her department, Ken. I'm about to go over and say hi when I watch her place a hand gently on his upper arm, and I suddenly see sirens going off to stay away. Clearly, she's in flirting mode, which I'm glad to see ever since Amy ended their relationship. Lita was pretty down about it, but Amy wasn't comfortable dating a coworker. Completely understandable, but still, Lita was nursing her feelings about it for a few weeks.

The shuttle bus arrives within ten minutes, and about 75 of us shuffle into the blue and gray clothed seats. The bus is buzzing with conversation, everyone excited about the luxurious evening we're about to embark on. I keep a polite smile on my face, but inside, I feel my heart clenching. Seiya is once again silent, his head tilted down as he scrolls through his phone. I can't help but look around at all the couples, talking, laughing, giving each other subtle touches or holding hands.

I look down at my own lap, trying to push aside the swirl of emotions building inside. I know if I ask him to put his phone away, he will respond with some sort of snarky answer. I also know that if I try and attempt to hold his hand or touch him, he won't respond to it at all. So, I leave my hands folded in my lap and stare at the red polish on my fingers, scrutinizing the poor job I did around my cuticles, when I feel the bus come to a stop and turn slowly into a circular driveway.

Every time I see this venue, I can't help but drink it in. Constructed entirely of bricks, the former mansion, located on the east side of Seattle, was built in 1906 by its original owners as a wedding gift. The Denny Mansion, as its been renamed, has a warm and welcoming ambience with intricate and details throughout, that features a gorgeous mahogany staircase in the Grand Hall, a Grand Piano in the Parlor, multi-faceted crystal chandeliers, and handcrafted furniture by fine craftsman woodworking. All rooms adjoin with perfect ease of flow, allowing for people to mingle and graze with ease. The firm has hosted its annual holiday party here for the last 15 years; while normally parties will rent one or two of the rooms for an event, the Partners actually reserve the entire building.

The perk of being the attorney's for the owners of the mansion.

We shuffle off of the bus into the chilly night, making our way up the stairwell and into the grand foyer. I am immediately in awe, round tables cloaked in tiffany-blue draperies, tall vase centerpieces filled with white and blue flowers, and white cushioned chairs filling the dining room to the left. Off to the right, I see the dance floor, the chambray wood detail of the floor popping off of the DJ's swirls of rainbow lighting. Surrounding us in the grand foyer is strung lights, twinkling above us, intertwined with frosted silver garland. The decorating committee dreamt up a winter wonderland, and they surpassed any expectations I had.

I pass my coat off to the coat-check clerk, pick up my nametag, and relay to Seiya that I need to meet with the planning committee. He nods, spotting the bar off in the distance, and we separate with no more than a "I'll be back soon." Not that he could care. In fact, when I turn around, I spot him at the bar talking to the bartender, smiling at her as she fills up his drink.

I scowl; he couldn't even smile at me today, but he could a perfect stranger.

I collect my thoughts and move on, meeting up with my group to discuss my role for the evening. Andrew from HR, Cara from Printing, and Erin from Marketing are in the back parlor, where boxes of Tiffany gifts are stacked on couches and envelopes are labeled on the tables.

"Hey guys," I greet to the group. Each of them look up at me with warm reception, and I suddenly feel slightly better.

"Hey Serena, gorgeous dress," Cara greets immediately.

"Thanks!"

"Here are your cards," Andrew states as he passes them off to me. I flip through them, recipients of awards for the year printed out under each category for ease of announcement. I nod as I continue to scan them.

"Which gifts are which?" I inquire as I look over. Erin begins to point at each object.

"The desk clocks are in this oblong box, the decanters are in this box, and the watches for the Partners are in this box," Erin lists in order of monetary value. I let out a whistle of appreciation and envy.

"Tiffany watches? Very nice."

"Yes; there should be four. One for Damien, one for Terry, one for Eric, and one for Darien," she lists, once again, robotically. I feel my cheeks stain slightly at the mention of Darien, but I mentally shake the feeling away.

"Okay, got it. When are we doing the announcements?"

"Right before dinner, so be back here in an hour, everyone?" Erin announces, the group nodding before breaking for a drink. I immediately make my way to the bar, eager as hell for a martini. While I knew all along I would be making announcements into the microphone after the Partners complete their brief introduction, the thought of public speaking makes me slightly nervous.

I make my way to the black-cloaked bar and stare at the specially crafted martini list that's displayed behind the bartender. In all honesty, most of them sound like they could be delicious, but extremely sweet. Personally, I'm a straight-up martini kind of girl; the dryer, the better. And with Gin, not vodka.

The bartender makes his way to me, inquiring which drink I would like. I mull a second longer, thinking of going for the grape and champagne combo, but instead opt to go with a classic. "I'll take a gin martini, straight up, with a twist," I reply. The bartender raises his eyebrow at me slightly.

"You don't want to try one of our craft martinis?" he inquires, as if he didn't hear me right.

"No, straight up, please," I repeat. I know I'm female, but hey, I like my drinks to get right to the point. Hard liquor, with more alcohol, and light on the flavor. Tonight especially calls for hard liquor, not froofy, jazzed up drinks.

"Coming right up," he replies, and I watch as he goes to work dumping gin and vermouth into the shaker. As I watch him make my drink, I feel a hand gently tap my shoulder. I look up, half expecting to see Seiya, only to be completely surprised when I realize it's Darien hovering over me.

"Oh, hi," I stammer as I turn to face him. God, could he look any more sexy? I can't help but marvel at his tuxedo, exquisitely cut and a perfect match for his suave manners. Rich in black, the color rivals the deep shade of his hair, while a brilliant white tuxedo shirt beneath the cuts of the jacket stands out. He completes his look with a crimson red bowtie, a welcomed pop of color that accented the richness of his outfit. If I hadn't thought he was handsome before, this moment would have challenged any and all prior reservations.

"What's on the menu tonight?" he asked as he slips his hands into his pocket, reading the board of the crafted martinis.

"A lot of fruity martinis," I stammer out, very aware of how close his body is to mine as more patrons begin to crowd the bar.

The bartender returns with my drink, placing it in front of me while asking Darien what he wants.

"Uhm, can I do a gin martini, straight up with a twist?" The bartender frowns once again.

"You don't want to try one of our craft martinis?" he asks, looking at me like I put him up to this.

"No, I'm not big into fruit-flavored drinks. Straight up, with a twist," he reiterates as he pulls out a crisp twenty. The bartender immediately silences, shuffles over to the bar, and begins shaking up Darien's cocktail. I turn back to him, my drink in hand.

"He asked me the same thing," I mused lift my drink from the bartop.

"What, you didn't go for the mixed ones?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm not much a crafted cocktail kind of girl."

Darien smiles as he nods. "Really? I would have suspected otherwise."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, when you live my life, you want your alcohol served up immediately, and strong," I say as I take go to take a sip, only for my eyes to widen at the revelation of what I just said. _Fuck._

"Uh, excuse me," I quickly state, shuffling away from him in embarrassment. Who am I to say my woes to him? Why on earth would I say something so stupid? Shit, I hadn't even had a sip of my drink yet!

I groan as I locate Seiya, sitting alone, completely sullen as he sips at his beer. As if this night couldn't get any worse, I have grumpy pants over here. Rolling my eyes at his unapproachable demeanor, I make my way to the table and sit down next to him.

"All set?" he asks lamentably. I nod a quick yes before I take sip of my martini. Damn, it's good.

"When do you go back up?" he inquires.

"45 minutes. Right before dinner," I answer while taking in another sip. Silence fills the void between us yet again.

A few more sips in, I can feel the strength of the alcohol working. I feel slightly more relaxed, not at all nervous about reading off the gift list, but my irritation with Seiya is amplified. He continues to lean back against the chair, slowly drinking his Mic Ultra, staring off into the crowd. When a few more moments of repetitive silence pass, I finally feel my tongue break out of its original hold.

"Are you going to just sit there miserable all night?" I ask none too kindly, calling him out for his poor attitude. He glances a nasty side-eye at me, as if he's trying to tell me to back off, but I'm not about it. "Lord knows if I acted like this at your work party you'd give me shit."

"Whatever," he answers, as if that's going to have me calm down. My eyebrows snap, my anger percolating, as he mechanically lifts his beer up to his lips once again.

"No, seriously, what the hell is with you? You're moody, pissy, and not giving one hell of a damned effort to even try like you want to have a good time," I state as I square my shoulders towards him. I've spent too much time and effort tonight to not have a good night, and if calling him on his bullshit means he'll give me a change of attitude, I'm willing to face brief public humiliation of arguing with my spouse in front of my colleagues.

Unfortunately, Seiya is not about that. "Can we not do this here?" he grumbles, standing up hastily. My eyes follow him as he walks towards the doorway, and in haste I stand up and follow him. We maneuver through the crowd and towards the back doorway, where I see him step out into the chilly air. I follow, despite that the air bites at my shoulders.

"Why on earth are we outside?" I ask as I wrap my hands around my forearms in an attempt to keep warm.

"Because I'm not making a scene in there," he snaps. "For fuck sake, I don't even want to be here."

I stagger slightly. "What? Since when?" I ask. "You've always liked this party."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to fucking be here this year, okay?" he replies frostily. I feel my heart constrict in disappointment, but I force myself to stand strong.

"Then why did you say you would come? Why did you drive the kids up? You have a voice, fucking use it."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, 'cuz that would go over so well."

"Fuck you," I spit at him. "You don't know how I would react."

"Don't I? You'd piss and moan, saying how important it is I be there. So rather than deal with your nagging, I didn't bother. I'm here, aren't I?"

"If I knew you'd be like this, I wouldn't have wanted you to come," I retort, despite knowing what he's saying is partially true. "You're my husband, you're supposed to come to these things!"

"God, Serena," he dramatically states with his hands up in the air, clenching the air like he's trying to hold on to something. "The last thing I need right now is for you to be fighting with me right now."

"Me? Fighting with you? God, Seiya, this argument is more words than we've said to each other in months!" I cry, throwing my own arms up in exaggeration. "I'm sick of this!"

"Yeah, well, me too," he counters. "I'm fucking tired of pretending to be happy when we both know neither of us are!" he shouts.

My mouth opens to respond, but it just continues to hang while my eyes go as wide as saucers. The heat from the anger begins to subside, but numbness moves in. I'm literally paralyzed from his declaration, unable to counter, to say anything that could confirm or deny words that he must have been hanging on to for so long.

Clearly, he's just as surprised as I am, as he suddenly shuffles his feet and runs his fingers through his hair. "Ah, listen, I'm gonna...I'm gonna catch a cab or something. Just, bring the home car tomorrow."

I nod dumbly, my stare still on him, despite that he can't face me. He brushes past me to go inside in haste, his head hanging low, and I continue to watch him until he disappears into crowd.

I continue to stand for a few more moments, knowing I have to go inside and do my job. I press my lips together and squeeze my hands into a fist, as if that's going to somehow calm the blaze of feelings inside of me that I can't seem to control. I'm angry; furious. Confused. Shocked. Sad.

But, oddly, relieved that one of us finally said it.

I dip my head and nod to myself before I take in a deep breath.

He's right. We are miserable.

#

It's only 8:25 when I retrieve my coat, the first shuttle back to the hotel due at 8:30. Obviously, I am not in the mood for mingling and would rather put this entire evening to bed. Part of me wants to go home and have it out with Seiya, but I know that a night apart to clear our heads and regroup in the morning is the more responsible thing to do. So, I opt to stay at the hotel and take the night away from him to strategize how to best approach this in the morning.

I step outside in to the winter's night, the bus's door open, beckoning to bring me away from the space filled with happy, jolly party-goers. I step into the warmed vessel, my head dipped low, and take a lonely seat in the front row.

The bus closes its doors shortly after I'm seated and pulls out into the main road. Continuing my downcast stare, I feel myself look up upon hearing a familiar voice.

"Are you okay?"

Concern etched in his deep blue eyes, Darien shifts up a few rows towards me. I give him a weak smile, not really trusting my voice, nodding my head in confirmation. But, he's not buying it. He urges again.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," I say in a voice that's barely above a whisper. I welcome the silence that grows between us, but it doesn't last.

"How come you're leaving early?" he inquires. I shrug.

"Not really in much of a partying mood," I say a little louder, attempting to sturdy my voice as I speak.

"Oh. Where is your husband?" he asks, and I wince at the question.

"He left."

"What do you mean, 'he left'?" he says in a tone that is a mix of surprise and appall.

"I mean," I state coldly, "he left. Decided to go home."

"Oh," he responds, and he pauses like he wants to say more. "I'm, I'm sorry."

I clench my jaw, wanting to spill my feelings out, especially when Darien looks at me with such a tenderness that I haven't seen a man look at me with in years. I want to tell him how Seiya's confession is throwing my emotions into turmoil, how I don't know what feeling I am honestly experiencing, how I'm terrified to think he means a divorce, but more terrified that I'm glad that the elephant between us is finally exposed.

But, I don't want to talk about Seiya.

I swallow the swirling statements in my mind, and instead refocus on the oddity in front of me. "So, why are you on the bus?"

Darien shrugs, as if it's no big deal for a Partner to be leaving a party that technically, he's paying for. "I hate these things. Getting chummy over cocktails around people I already have to see everyday? I only show up because I have to."

"That's… surprising," I respond with genuine interest. "I would have assumed you would enjoy such events."

Now he looks intrigued. "Oh really? Why?"

I shrug. "A great time to talk about work matters with people outside our department?"

He shakes his head. "If it's important enough to talk about here, they should see me at work. I'm really big about work-life balance."

I scoff. "What?" he replies, calling me out on my unsubtle disbelief.

"You took away my flex-scheduling. I hardly count that as valuing work-life balance," I counter, despite the fact that this statement could very well get me in hot water. After all, he's my boss. He has complete control over my future with this company. But right now, despite my earlier confusion, I know at least one feeling I am nursing, and it's hurt.

Darien, however, surprises me with his response. "Yeah, I did. Haven't you noticed since I revoked it, you're out the door by 5, not 7:30?"

"Well, yeah…"

"I'm pretty sure I overheard you telling the brown-haired girl, what's her name, uh, Lydia—"

"—Lita."

"Yes, Lita, that you have sitter that handles all your scheduling conflicts?" he states matter-of-factly.

I sigh. "Yeah"

He smiles. "You can't honestly tell me it's been that bad, has it?"

I pout. "No."

He leans back, as if he's satisfied. "See?

"Okay, okay, you're right," I relinquish, a smile creeping across my face for the first time in a few hours.

"There's that smile." I blush as he calls me out, but try to giggle it away as I look down. A comfortable silence takes us the rest of the way to the hotel, and I find myself feeling a little better. We both give our thanks to the driver before making our way into the hotel.

"Are you staying here?" I inquire out of curiosity.

"Yeah, I figured I might as well. You?"

I nod in response. "Yeah." As we enter the lobby, I find myself not wanting to return to my hotel room alone. After all, it's only 8:45, and knowing myself, I'll just lay there and sulk in misery.

"Um," I suddenly say with total nervousness, "do you want to, uh, have a drink with me?" I can see surprise cloak Darien like a cape, so I continue.

"I just… I don't really want to be alone right now."

* * *

 **A/N:** You guyyyyys, you're seriously, SERIOUSLY picked me up out of my funk. I am eternally grateful! All the comments, tumblr messages, and words of encouragement really made me feel so so so much better.

I don't know how to express how thankful I am, outside of gushing, then writing an eleven-page (6,386 word to be exact) chapter that is beginning to kick up the heat!

And I know I'm repeating myself, but thank you again for your reviews and comments. Let me know how you liked this chapter! And, I love suggestions! Please please please, if I'm missing some details (I know I got a request for more family scenes, as well as description of Elsie's appearance), please don't be shy!


	7. Chapter 6

Awkward silence.

Sure, there was the soft rock station hanging in the air, but I have no idea what the hell I was thinking. I must have suffered an aneurysm, or a stroke, asking my BOSS to have a drink with me. Stupid, impulsive, and ridiculous behavior. It's obvious he's only here out of pity due to the fact my husband literally abandoned me at my freaking Christmas party.

Currently, I am situated at a table with Darien in the smaller of the two hotel bars, staring around the venue aimlessly, desperate to try to think of something to start off a conversation. The bar, decorated in mahogany details and leather seating, is definitely the quieter of the two establishments. The other one, located on the other side of the hotel, is more of your club-like atmosphere, complete with a DJ, dance floor, and glowing bartop. It's typically where the company's unofficial "afterparty" commences, and ultimately, where gossip-laced shenanigans partake. For me, it's fun to people watch.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" I look over to the waiter, dressed nicely in a white button-up and black slacks, and nod.

"Hi; yes, please. Which single malts do you have?'

"We have Oban, Bowmore, Laphroaig, and Macallan," he lists from memory, and I am in appreciation of the variety of quality of their whiskey.

"Okay, I'll have the Bowmore. Neat, please," I add, deciding to go big, since I'm not certainly not going home tonight. Upon finishing my order, however, I can't help but giggle at the surprise that crosses Darien's features.

"Make that two," he says with his eyes trained on me. As the waiter nods and disappears, Darien leans back in his chair and bows in appreciation. "Okay, noted; definitely not a mixed cocktail person."

I shake my head, the trained curls grazing against my collarbone gently. "Nope."

"I have to say, I am impressed. I don't believe I've ever seen a woman order whiskey at a bar, unless it's to take shots, I suppose," Darien says as he cups his chin, as if he's pondering his past. It's fun to see him in thought over something that's not work-related.

I can't help but laugh again. "You know, studies show drinking whiskey is actually good for you."

Darien tosses me a crooked smile that makes my heart pound slightly. "Really?"

"Yes," I continue, despite the risk of sounding dumb, "it can help prevent cancer. There is more ellagic acid in single-malt than red wine."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, and ellagic acid is an antibiotic that absorbs cancer cells, so, yep," I conclude as our drinks are placed in front of us. As soon as the waiter walks off, Darien picks up his glass and swirls the bronze liquid slowly, as if he were inspecting it. I half expect him to sniff it, or look displeased, but I am quite surprised when he adds his own commentary on my ridiculous attempt to make conversation.

"It also lowers your risk of dementia," he adds.

I can't stop the stupid grin that spreads across my face.

#

We're each two drinks in, and we've moved on from polite conversation to being a lot more comfortable with each other. At least, I am finding I'm more comfortable. Tipsy, but more at ease than I was earlier.

"Okay, okay," I start as our third round arrives. "Twenty questions."

Darien raises an eyebrow at me. I continue on.

"We don't really know much about each other. So, twenty questions. You ask, I ask, and by the end, we'll know each other better. Which, should be a good thing, because, we're gonna be working together for a long time," I reason.

"Okay," Darien agrees as he sips his drink again. He opens his mouth like he's about to ask a question, but I put up my hand to stop him.

"Rules," I add.

"Rules?"

"Yes. No inappropriate questions. No overly personal questions. Just, fun questions."

He nods in agreement.

"Okay, so, I'll start. Did you always want to be a lawyer?"

"Nope," Darien chuckles as he takes a sip of his drink. "I actually wanted to be a chef."

"Really?" I say with admiration, knowing my skills are limited to meals made out of a box. "So, I'll assume you're a good cook?"

"I'm not terrible," he concedes, "but I do make a pretty mean cheesecake." I must have wrinkled my face in disbelief, because he calls me out on it. "I really do!"

"Okay, okay," I say with a shake of my head. "But, I'm sure it's not as good as Lita's cake."

"Lita?"

"Brown hair? In Personal Liability?"

"Oh. Right, right. Psh, my cake is much better than hers," he states with confidence.

"Sure it is," I muse with a sip of my drink.

"Okay, you know what? I'll prove it to you."

"Oh, really?" I respond with a cheeky smile as he nods his head vigorously.

"Oh, it's on," he concludes with a curt nod. A moment of silence fills the void between us before we break into a fit of laughter from the response to the question. Once it subsides, he turns the tables on me.

"So, law school. You went. Did you always want to be in this field?" he asks me without diving too deep into my failed attempt at my dream career, which I appreciate immensely.

"Nope," I reply, thinking back to my childhood dream. "I wanted to be a Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleader."

Darien must have been mid-sip when I announced that, because when I publicized my preteen dream, his cheeks blew up with air from trying to contain what I imagine was a intense 'what' or fit of laughter. From the dramatic swallow and the "seriously?!" he tossed me, I wasn't too far off.

"Yup. Come on, back in the 90's the Dallas Cheerleaders were THE 'it girls.' They were HOT and were known around the world for being beautiful! And those outfits? Come on, those boots and uniforms were sick. And, so, I wanted to be one. Even did gymnastics and pop warner cheer too."

"Really?" he acknowledges as he props his head on his knuckles, leaning in with interest. "How did that turn out?"

"I couldn't do it to save my life. I sucked, man," I admit as he fails at containing his laughter. "It took three failed JV tryouts and a faceplant from botching a cartwheel to realize that was just not going to happen."

"That's funny," he states as he raises his drink to me. "I can see it. You did run in to me, after all."

"I did not! You ran into me!" I defend myself with my jaw open wide, even though the corners of my mouth are curled in a smile. He begins to laugh, and I pick up on the teasing. "Oh, you jerk!" I say as I shove his arm, taking a second to revel in the taught muscles I feel underneath his tuxedo shirt. _God those biceps must be huge!_

The laughter subsides a bit when I pick a new question.

"Favorite sports car?" Satisfaction drips across Darien's features from that question, and I feel a tingle in response that I educed such a passionate look on his face. _Okay, Serena, stop thinking that way. Inappropriate. In-a-fucking-ppropriate._

"Lamborghini. Hands down, the sexiest car out there. One day," he says with a pointed finger, "one day I'll own one. Cherry red with black accents."

"Urus, Aventador, or Centenario?"

"Aventador. SVJ coupe model. The 2019 model is just," he pauses as he curls his fingers into the air, like he's trying to find the correct word to describe his passion, "breathtaking." He looks to me with a couple of blinks before he speaks. "How do you know so much about sports cars?"

"I have a brother," I inform him with a shrug. "He was big into sports cars growing up, so I picked up on some of the makes and models. It was one of those weird things that bonded us in our teens, especially when I got a Pontiac Firebird my senior year in high school."

"Nice!" Darien comments with appreciation. "Year?"

"1979," I begin, but I can't help but continue when I see his eyes light up, fishing for more. "Jet black, 220 horsepower v8 engine, 4 speed manual with a T-top."

"Ho-lee shit," he whistles as he finishes off his third drink.

I nod. "Oh, yeah."

"So, do you still have it?" he asks with eager interest, as if it's parked in my garage underneath a white sheet. I pout.

"I had to give it up when I had Elsie. It was a two-seater."

"Bummer," he says with a puckered frown.

"Yeah," I agree wistfully, thinking back to the days of cruising the coast, blasting the custom stereo I had installed into the dash. "I do, however, want an Audi R8 Spyder next. V10, white, convertible."

Darien nods in approval. "Those are nice."

"Yeah they are," I agree. "Zero to sixty in 3.5 seconds, 602 horsepower with 413 foot-pound of torque? God, I'd sell my soul to own one."

"Sounds like you've done your homework," Darien affirms.

"Well, when your life is all about soccer games, dance competitions, and desperately trying to find balance somewhere in between, you need to hold on to some sort of dream," I sigh. "Even as silly as a sports car I'll never own, let alone get a chance to ride in, it's nice having something that's just mine to hold on to," I finish philosophically as I stare into the ending contents of my drink.

"I get it." I glance up from my glass to Darien, who is currently looking out into the overhead lighting. "What's the point of working as hard as we do if we can't indulge in things every once in a while?"

"Exactly."

"I mean, I put in 80 hours a week, and that's on a short week. So what if I wanted to get a nice car instead of start a family just yet? I made sacrifices, _make_ sacrifices, and want to enjoy my life," Darien suddenly says as he works on his fourth glass of whiskey, and I realize that he's confessing his own deep-rooted issues.

"You do work a lot," I agree, not quite sure what to say.

"Exactly. I wasn't ready to start diaper duty, or worry about schools, or all that shit. I wanted to live a little first. But no, that wasn't allowed, apparently, because for whatever dumb reason, the first year of marriage means you need to get pregnant or some shit," he rambles on. "Or am I wrong?"

"So, you're married?" I ask, attempting to contain my shock. I desperately try to recall a token in his office I might have missed, but as far as I know, I have never seen a wedding photo, or ring, or any hint of information that Darien Shields was a spouse to some lucky freaking woman out there.

"No; oh, God, no," he states venomously. "Not anymore. When I wouldn't give her a baby, she found someone else who would."

"Yikes," I cringe.

"Yup. So, she went off and married the new guy and had his baby, and I got my Maserati. I think I got the better end of the deal," Darien concludes with an affirmative nod.

I can't help but smile and nod with him. "Absolutely. Fuck that shit!" I boldly conclude as we clank glasses, officially moving over from the land of tipsy to flirting with the border of intoxication. We tip our glasses back, sipping at the smooth liquor.

We smile at each other before we catch each other's stare and I feel my body suspend movement. As much as I want to tear away, as much as I know I _should_ , I can't. Unexpectedly, his fingers move to the side of my face, and I feel him tuck a strand of loose hair that escaped my pins behind my ear. I blush at the gentle contact, dipping my head slightly so he doesn't see the affect he has on me.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry he left you tonight." I hesitantly look up at him, swirls of emotions I can't place coursing through my body. I don't know if it's the whiskey, or the deep, penetrating stare of his azure eyes, but my heart begins to pound wildly as we hold each other's stare's longer.

"It sucks," he pauses, and I take in a hard swallow to try and still my nerves, "to be unappreciated."

I can only nod, not trusting my words or my lips to move. Instead I try to focus on my breathing, the slow in-and-out mechanics, my chest rising and falling, and not on the fact that his hand hasn't moved from where he grazed my cheek.

Distance between us slowly starts to close in. I don't know if it's him, or if it's me, or, hell, if the whiskey and vulnerability are playing tricks on my mind, but I swear I can feel his hot breath, laced with velvet aromatics of the Bowmore, on my skin. His hand continues to linger, the burn of his touch affecting my senses, my heart pounding so loud that I can't register what my mind is trying to scream at me. My eyelids begin to lower, lips slowly begin to part.

A sudden decibel of commotion erupts, our barstools scraping against the wooden floor as the volume of noise grows louder from the lobby into the bar as we separate in haste. I whip my head around, a flock of well-dressed colleagues migrating into the area and surround themselves around the bar.

I continue to breathe hard, my eyes focused on the crowd rather than the almost-kiss that just happened. I hear the chair next to me scour against the wooden grain further. Looking over, I see Darien on the move and working his way into the crowd, our evening concluded. I nod in appreciation, thankful for the separation, before looking down into the empty contents of drink number four in total embarrassment.

What _the fuck_ is wrong with me?

#

I pull into the driveway, staring out at the linear mountains of snow pressed against the fence and the yard longer than I need to be. Between the lack of sleep and the slight hangover, going inside and having to confront Seiya about our argument last night is the last thing I want to do.

But, I know that if I let those words stay in the air and not do anything about it, we will be stuck in another cycle of misery.

I turn off the car, my eyes trained on the snow, while still shaking off the events of the entire evening. Between the argument, my impulsive invitation, and almost making out with my boss, I want to dig a hole and go into hiding. What a shit evening. What if I never picked a fight with Seiya? What if I just left it alone rather than call him out for looking miserable? At least I'd be able to face Darien on Monday. Now I have to avoid him, or at the bare minimum be around him as scarcely as possible.

I drop my head on the steering wheel. Why? Why do I self-sabotage myself like this? Am I a glutton for misery? I bop my forehead against a few more times for good measure before begrudgingly pulling at the door handle. A blast of cold air interrupts my confines of my pity-party, freezing me out of my car and into the chilly atmosphere I know I'm going to have to face the moment I walk inside.

I grab the handles of my bags and yank them across the center counsel, cursing as they get stuck on the automatic clutch, before slamming the door of Dory. I stare at the chipping blue van, once a vessel of transporting my little ones, now a representation of how much I've settled in my life. My kids are old enough; why can't I get a more practical, let alone a slightly newer car? Why am I stuck with the Mom-mobile?

I'm more than a Mom.

Before I was a Mom I was a girlfriend. Before that, an ambitious law student who was on the Dean's list. A music lover. An artist. A participant in sports. So many different pieces I've stored away; why can't I pull them back out again, even if I do it slowly?

Maybe it's time to start finding my way to being that girl again; the girl who cruised in her T-top Firebird down the streets, Seiya's hand in mine as we blasted Nirvana. The couple who sipped cheap whiskey on the coast as we watched the boaters sail by. Lord knows I've missed being that girl.

Maybe he misses her as well.

With renewed vigor, I open up the garage door and make my way into the house, slightly alerted when I see Seiya at the kitchen table cupping a mug of coffee. His hair unruly, still dressed in his pajamas, he looks whitewashed, defeated as he continues to look downcast. I place my bags lightly on the floor next to me before I pull out the seat across from him, ready to sit down and make this work.

He looks up at me, staring into my eyes with a look carved into his features that shakes me to my core. The fleeting thought of telling him that I'm going to try to be that girl he once fell in love with immediately vacates my mind.

Because I can see it; that he no longer loves me any more.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ohhhhh snap on so many levels.

I've had a few comments lately about this story being your run-of-the-mill cheating story and that I'm making Serena out to be some sort of adulterer who doesn't give a damn about her husband. I hope you can see that I am _not_ taking that road. Things are going to be progressing rather quickly now that the foundation has been laid; you've been warned. If you don't like my work, or what I'm aiming to do, please leave your negativity at the door.

Otherwise, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and my attempt at beginning a slow burn. After all, relationships don't develop overnight, especially when one's not available... yet!


	8. Chapter 7

_13 Years Ago_

It's not enough I can hear the door pulsating, but I can feel it in my fingertips, my arms, my legs, all the way to my core as I stand outside in line. The bouncer continues to inspect my ID, like I'm underage or something. Eventually he returns it to me in exchange for my $10 cover, which I'm quick to hand over.

I latch arms with Raye once he pushes the wooden black door open, the vibrations of the bass rippling off the walls, growing louder as we make our way down the black-painted hallway, heavily decorated with bumper stickers and outdated flyers for those who performed at Chubbs before.

We make our way to the coat check, slip off our raincoats and hand them to the woman behind the bar. I eye and approve of Raye's choice of outfit; a tattered Nirvana top against a pleated red plaid mini. She is definitely feeling it tonight! I adjust my tube top, deep red with grey rhinestones underneath my chest, dust off imaginary lint off my black miniskirt, and make my way into the bar.

"Wow, full house tonight!" Raye shouts over the music, but I nod lazily, transfixed on the frontman of the band bellowing into the microphone. The way his fingers press into the strings, his hands fluidly move against the instrument as if it was an extension of his soul. He rocks, rolls against the power of the notes coming from his fingertips while he sings into the microphone.

 _"Our love is like water, beaten down and abused for being strange…"_

He's dressed in his vintage washed Ramones top, fitted just enough to see his muscles underneath the fabric, paired with dark-washed jeans and his black chucks. Around his wrist is a metal studded black cuff, his neck a double leather necklace cord. His long, black hair is pulled back into a ponytail, waving in fluidity with each turn his head makes. His eyes are closed as his lips move, chords of Live's hit song energizing the crowd, currently moshed around the stage and headbanging in sync. It's the largest crowd to date I've seen of the Three Lights, and I can't help but itch to get up front and throw my head back and dance.

Raye's leaned over the bar and trying to get the bartender's attention, but I tug her away to join the crowd. "Come on!" I insist with a pull of her arm, and she's quick to oblige, because she's by my side as we push through the mass, making our way as close to the front as possible. Were a few feet back from the stage, and in perfect time for Seiya's guitar solo, because as he positions himself in his 'solo-stance', his wrist expertly picking against the strings, his eyes catch mine. I let my body move, swaying my breast, my shoulders under his hooded gaze, only to throw my arms back when he belts out the final chorus of the cover;

 _"Pay me now lay me down; lay me down, down; pay me now pay me now, lay me down, lay me down, layyyyy-"_

I practically lose it when he tips his head back and belts out the final " _ohhh_ " of the song, screaming and applauding as the band wraps up their amazing cover of the song. Watching that man sing; God, it's such a fucking _turn on._ The way he moves his hips, his lips; his voice is from another universe, so edgy, so deep, so god damn sexy.

He tosses me a lopsided grin and wink as he strums his guitar, and I shout and applaud even louder before I fall under the intoxication of his next song, their cover of Everclear's "Father of Mine." The crowd cheers and looses itself when he strums out the first few chords of the 90s hit.

Raye signals to me that she needs refreshment a few songs in, and I willingly follow her, eager for a rum and coke myself. We order and sip at our drinks, the band now belting out "Semi-Charmed Life," and I can't help but shake my hips to the beat.

"They are on fire tonight," Raye comments as she sips at her drink.

"Hell yeah they are!" I shout back. I begin to mouth the lyrics as I fiddle with my straw, my eyes watching Seiya sinuously move around the stage. It's easy to see the passion, let alone hear it, as he hits the notes with expertise. His voice, his musical talent; I'm convinced he was crafted by the Gods to be an entertainer, not a teacher.

"Fuck he looks hot tonight," I comment, unable to tear my eyes away from him.

"How long has it been?" Raye asks with a nudge into my arm. I let out a sigh.

"Two weeks," I reply with a groan. With my finals coming up, I've holed myself in my dorm, taking every practice test and cramming every bit of knowledge possible into my brain. The first year of law school has been tough; like, ridiculously insane. I've barely had time for friends, let alone see my boyfriend. So after shoving in every last piece of Torts and Contracts into my brain that I could, I decided I needed one night away to clear my mind so I could refocus tomorrow.

Plus, I missed him like _crazy._

"We're going to take a 15 minute break, so don't go anywhere," I suddenly hear Seiya announce to the crowd, and I jump and clap at the opportunity to finally see him. In fact, I didn't bother to wait for him to come to me; I run through the crowd and jump into him, where I am thrilled that he is waiting with open arms to catch me. He wraps his hand around the back of my head, pulling me in for a soul-crushing kiss, his other hand grabbing my ass provocatively. I moan further into the kiss and press myself harder into him, separating only when I finally need to take a breath.

"I thought you weren't able to make it," Seiya exclaims as he rests his hands on my hips, toying with the waist of my skirt.

I grin at the gesture, responding by trailing my finger down his chest. "I missed you too much to stay away," I purr at him, my other arm grazing his cheek, before I let out a yelp when he pulls me into him for another kiss.

"God, I've missed you, baby," he responds in between kisses, and I feel like a woman possessed by his touch. "Are you sticking around?" he asks, and I can't help but grin at the hidden plea I can hear in his question.

"And miss watching you look like Kurt Cobain up there? Not a chance in Hell," I affirm.

"Mm, Kurt Cobain, you say?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

"Only much, much hotter," I indorse with another kiss. "Now get back up there so I can keep thinking about taking those clothes off of you later."

His grin is as wide as ever. "Oh yea?"

I nod vigorously. "Hell yeah."

"Yes ma'am," he complies, but not before giving me a final kiss to leave me hanging. More intoxicating than tequila, more addicting than sugar, that man, my beautiful, sexy, rocker boyfriend makes me feel things I never knew I could feel. I giggle as we separate, him back up with his bandmates and me making my back over to Raye, who is rolling her eyes at me.

"God, if his hands went any further up your skirt I was gonna have to come over there," she comments as she finishes off her drink. I can't help but giggle again, affected by the brief touches we exchanged, hungry for so much more.

"Oh shut up," I laugh as I finish my own drink. "It's been two weeks. I'm horny as fuck."

"Yeah, clearly," she responds. "You're going back to his place tonight I assume, yes?"

I nod. "Yuuuuup."

"Slut."

"Whore!"

"Bitch!"

We conclude our loving spat with some nudging and boob punches before dashing back into the crowd, dancing the night away; Seiya's voice and Captain Morgan flowing through our veins.

#

"Thanks, Taiki," Seiya shouts as he slaps the back of the van, signaling to his bandmate that he has all of his stuff. The _"Who's the Boss"_ looking van peels off into the night before turning the corner, leaving Seiya and I to take his stuff up to his fifth floor, makeshift attic apartment. I pick up the amplifier and some cords, Seiya carrying the rest, and we make our way up the old staircase of the converted 1920's home.

When we finally arrive at the apartment, he opens the door in haste and practically drops all the stuff on the adjacent futon, pulling me into him immediately. Before I can even giggle, yelp, or say something, he pulls my top down, freeing my breast from my strapless bra and latches on to me. I moan, tip my head back, and wrap my leg around him, pulling him into me, wanting more; needing so much more. His hand gropes at my free breast quickly before descending to my skirt, yanking it down, along with my panties, to my ankles in haste. I can feel his need against me, and I want it bad.

I fumble with his belt buckle, desperate to unbutton his jeans and feel him inside me. Two weeks. Two weeks of no sex, no touches, no kisses, and I'm a woman starved. I finally fumble enough to loosen the belt when he takes over, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down just enough with his boxers before he hoists me against the wall and slips easily inside of me.

I grasp at his tee and moan into his hair as he thrusts into me and against the wall. My legs wrap around his hips like a vice as he goes deeper, harder, faster. For a few minutes we last this way, but he soon carries me into the bedroom, and I am thrilled to take over. Once we land on the bed, I pull all the remaining articles of clothing off of us before I straddle him and lower on to him, satisfied when I hear his deep, sexy moan of content. His hands grasp at my hips as I grind against him, slowly, then quick, grasping at his chest when I feel my orgasm about to hit. He lifts up from the bed into a seated position and rakes his fingers in my hair, holding me as I feel my orgasm cascade over me, continuing to thrust as my body convulse against him.

I'm on Cloud 9. My body is tingling, sensitive to his touch as I fall under intoxication of his while he continues to fuck me into the night.

When we've finished, I lay on his chest, tracing delicate circles over his muscles while he lazily runs his fingers up my arm. He kisses my dampened forehead, and I close my eyes and savor in the moment.

"I'm glad you came out tonight," he murmurs into my hair. I sigh happily in appreciation.

"Me too," I agree sluggishly, fatigue creeping up.

"You going back to school tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I yawn. "I have my first final Monday at 8."

"Mm," he responds. "What are your plans after finals?"

"I'll probably just go back to my Mom's for the month," I reply, suddenly alert with the line of questioning. "Why?"

"Just wondering," he replies lazily.

"Ah."

"Because, you know, if you want to, I don't know, stay here for the month, you can," he suddenly suggests. My eyes widen at the proposal; did he just—

I lift my head up to look at him. "Are you asking me to move in with you during break?"

He smiles, his hand now rubbing my back. "Yeah, I am."

I snuggle deeper into him, kissing him on his cheek. God, this man.

"I love you," I say as I kiss his cheek again, pressing my nakedness against his side. He responds with wrapping his other arm around me, kissing my forehead, and holding me tightly until I feel myself begin to fade off.

I am the luckiest woman on earth.

#

I yawn into the sleeve of my hoodie, unable to focus on the study session I am attending. After the welcomed break following fall semester, this spring I have been struggling to stay awake. Which, honestly, surprises me, because I pretty much was in bed all of January. Sure, I was either in bed or _in bed_ , but overall I barely did anything besides relax or catch up on my reading. It was a much needed, very pleasurable and intense six weeks off.

Now I am paying for it. We're currently going over legislation and regulatory state law and I can't help but yawn over and over again.

"Coffee break?" I finally say when I can't take it anymore. Despite my group looking extremely annoyed, they grant my request, likely so I can stop yawning and actually contribute. I don't blame them; after all, yawning is contagious.

I get up from our table at the library and make my way over to the coffee shop. While I wait in line, I take in a greedy inhale of the fresh roasted coffee. Thank God this place stays open until eleven, otherwise I'm sure none of us would survive.

"Large hazelnut coffee, please," I order when it's my turn at the counter, swiping my meal card per the cashier's instruction. They dispense the pre-brewed hazelnut coffee into a Styrofoam cup and I watch like a possessed person, so much I was truly startled when Michiru from my study group tapped me on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" she apologized as she bobbed her head. Michiru, a sweetheart who came over from Japan, was one of the first girls I clicked with here at UW. Dorm neighbors, she and I bonded over our love of coffee and classical music, as she is a violinist. She gave me a warm smile once I regained my composure and apologized to her for my overreaction. "Are you alright?"

I nod my head as I retrieve my drink. "Just tired is all," I lament before I make my way to the cream and sugar.

"Okay," she says, but her voice is unconvincing.

"Seriously, I'm alright, just a little more tired than usual is all," I reaffirm to her.

"Alright, I believe you," she says. "I just want to make sure you are not getting sick is all."

I shake my head adamantly. "Nope, not sick. No cold or cough here," I assure her.

She smiles once again, but she's already planted a seed of doubt. Why _am_ I so tired?

As we make our way back to the table and I sip at my coffee, I intentionally engage more and hold back my yawns, but the fatigue lingers. But why? Why am I so tired? Sure, I'm studying, but I'm asleep before midnight, and classes aren't until 10, so I'm getting plenty of sleep. Plus, I haven't been going out with friends or Seiya, so I know I'm not spreading myself entirely thin. Do I need to cool it on the studying? Maybe I _am_ getting sick and my body is telling me to chill out. I mentally sigh. This is not the time to be slowing down. I need to stay on top if I have a snowball's chance in Hell into being accepted into one of the competitive internship programs in the city this summer.

My resolve renewed, I focus all my brainpower on the material in front of me. I will not be stopped.

#

It has been six weeks and I still can't stop yawning.

At the insistence of Michiru, I am at the campus clinic to see if maybe my blood sugar levels are low or something along those lines. Maybe its my Vitamin levels? Who knows. Either way, I'm currently sitting in the office, waiting for the Doctor to arrive.

I glance around the room, my lips pursed in annoyance at how long I've been waiting. Sure, it's only been about fifteen minutes, but I have much better things I could be doing. Plus, with it being Friday, I was really hoping to go see Seiya's band perform tonight, but the only time I could get this stupid appointment was at 6:30. Maybe if the doc hurries up, I can get in, get out, and go see his show. Figures it starts at 7 and is on the other side of the city.

The sound of the door startles me out of my mental bickering. An older woman walks in, her graying blonde hair framing her face as she takes off her rimmed glasses before looking at me.

"I'm Doctor Sanders," she introduces afore getting right to the point. "What's going on today?"

"Um, I've just been really tired. Like, overly tired lately. More than usual," I say with a shrug, thinking of how freaking stupid I sound. Of course I'm tired! Name a University student who isn't!

"Okay," she says as she opens up a chart. "Are you on a multivitamin?"

"Yes."

"Getting at least 7 hours of sleep a night?"

"Yes."

"Plenty of fluids?"

"Yes."

"Pregnant?"

I scoff. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

I shake my head. "I'm on the pill."

She blinks a few times. "When was the last time you got your period?"

"I don't get my period on this pill," I point out to her. Why is she focusing on this?

She frowns. "I'd like to rule out pregnancy before we go any further." She turns around and retrieves a paper cup off of the countertop and hands it to me. "Use the restroom and pee in the cup, then leave it inside the little silver door. Just a precaution," she adds with a smile, clearly trying to soothe the face I must have on. I'm not pregnant. No fucking way. I haven't thrown up or had morning sickness. No weight gain, no baby bump.

As I walk out of the room and into the bathroom to relieve myself, I swallow hard.

I can't be pregnant. I can't be. No.

She's delusional.

I can't wait for her to be wrong.

#

 _"You're going to want to follow up with your Obstetrician to see how far along you are. I would recommend making an appointment immediately, as well as take a prenatal vitamin. No alcohol intake, and make sure you limit your caffeine intake to only 1 cup of coffee a day. I know this is a shock to you."_

Tears haven't stopped falling down my face since I left the clinic.

I'm pregnant. Unknown number of weeks pregnant. At least six, but most likely more.

Currently, I'm sitting against Seiya's apartment door, waiting for him to come home from his show. As much as I wanted to go there and talk to him, I couldn't do that to him. He was going to be singing some of their original work tonight; I couldn't drop this bomb on him there. That wouldn't be fair. It's bad enough I had it given to me at my fucking school's clinic when I was adamant I wasn't pregnant.

I drop my head into my knees. I can't believe this is happening to me.

I'm a good person. I'm faithful, loyal, and a hard worker. And now I'm pregnant? With a man who I've only been dating for 8 months? Yeah, we spent that one month in bed pretty much fucking the entire time, but I am on the pill. I am diligently, without fail, clockwork on the pill to make sure something like this doesn't happen.

And yet, here I am.

"Babe?" I look up and see Seiya, guitar in one hand, amp in the other. He's dressed in his typical band attire: dark washed jeans, chucks, and a Clash t-shirt.

I stare at the t-shirt. Why the t-shirt and not his face, I'm not entirely sure. Maybe because the shirt represents everything I'm about to take away from him. Maybe because it's what's I'm about to lose out on. But the moment I see the shirt, that olive green shirt with the faded album cover image worn from years of wear, I burst into tears.

He is by my side in an instant, wrapping his arm around me, comforting me, coaxing me to tell him what's wrong. But every time I look into his tender eyes, filled with concern for me, all I can think of is that I'm about to alter whatever path we're on.

It's no surprise that his hands cease their tenderness and freeze when I finally find the words and tell him "I'm pregnant." He looks whitewashed; defeated, terrified, and at a loss. He sinks down on the floor next to me, as if the wind was knocked out of him, and I can't blame him. We're 22. We haven't even scratched the surface of knowing one another, let alone even knowing ourselves.

He drops his head into his hands and a deathly silence lingering over us. He stays that way for a few moments, his fingers gripping at his bangs, the already unruly ponytail becoming frazzled as he continues to pulse his fingers against the follicles of his black hair.

"What do we do?" he finally asks, a horse voice, as if he is trying himself not to get emotional.

"I don't know," I answer in an honest whisper. And I don't know. How we handle this? Do we keep it? Do we move in together? Raise it separately? The questions are overwhelming. "I have no idea," I say as my voice breaks, fresh tears streaming down my face. All I see is the end of law school. Me, by myself, struggling to juggle daycare and taking classes. Seiya hating me for ruining his musical ambitions. Seiya hating me for strapping him down.

A few more moments of silence pass by us when he finally lifts his head. I look over at him and see a new expression on his face; resolve. Perseverance.

"You move in with me," he begins, "and we get married. That's what we do."

#

 _Present Day_

It's funny how things come back full circle.

How the look Seiya had when I told him I was pregnant is the same look he gave me when I walked through the door just 15 minutes before. How his hands that once beautifully played the guitar and evoked such passionate responses from my body were being used as a way to facilitate his emotions as he spoke each painful word.

How he came to resent the life he settled for.

How he wished we waited before we rushed into marriage.

How he slowly fell out of love with me.

"I'm sorry, Serena," he concludes his dissertation as he grasps at his bangs. I watch him finger his hair, gripping them while he waits for me to speak, and I'm at a loss.

Yes, we have been having problems for months. Maybe years. But to end our marriage?

"So, that's it? Just, it's over?"

"Sere," he begins, looking back up at me.

"No, you just say it's over, just like that? No attempt to even try and fix it?" I stand up quickly, the chair falling backwards and hitting the kitchen floor. The noise gives me slight reprieve from the fire building inside of me.

"Fix what? Fix that we were strangers to each other now? For fuck's sake, Serena, I hardly recognize you anymore."

"Me? You hardly recognize me? That's absurd; I'm the person who takes care of your family, the one who fucking _sacrificed_ everything to cater after you!" I cry out, throwing my hands up in the air.

"Don't I know it!" he yells back at me, slamming his hands on the table as he stands up to challenge me. "I know you gave up law school, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this family destroyed your dream. But I gave up shit, too. It's not just you who lost out on everything!"

"Yet you're the one giving up," I coldly state. "You're done. You want out. Well fine, Seiya. Fine. Go ahead. Leave. Get the fuck out. GO."

"Serena, I—"

"GO."

We stare at each other for a moment longer, and although I feel the fire inside me blazing and the tears about to fall, I stare in his eyes, desperately searching for that look. The one he gave me when I walked down the aisle to him. The one that I saw the days our children were born. The one he gave me when I ran into his arms at Chubb's thirteen years ago.

Not a twinkle.

Not even a shimmer.

And just like he said, staring back at me were the hollow eyes of a stranger.

The tears finally fell. Staring into the loveless eyes of my husband, soon to be _ex_ husband, I could feel my heart breaking. Breaking for my family, for the failure of a wife I was, for the end of something we built together. How he was right that we weren't in love anymore, but how he was wrong, so wrong to give up so quick.

He broke contact as he reached for the keys on the table slowly. Before he turned away, however, he took in a deep breath, his shoulders shuddering from his own hurt.

"I'm going to go get the kids," he said numbly. "I don't think it's wise to tell them before Christmas."

"I agree," I respond, the tone of my voice flat.

He nods, as if he is thanking me, before putting his coat on and walking outside. I hear the car start, the tires of the minivan crunching against the snow, the emptiness of the house a foreshadow of the life I'm about to embark on.

And as much as I agree with his words, that we did rush into marriage, that we did fall out of love, I sink to the floor and cry for the loss of my husband, the conclusion of my marriage.

 _"I want a separation."_


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Happy hour?"

My force my eyes to look up from the print of the deposition in front of me to the twinkling jade ones staring at me. Why are they twinkling? Why must they look so fucking happy? Whose eyes fucking twinkle?

"I don't think so," I reply morosely before dipping my head back down to my paperwork. The last thing I want to do is go out tonight with a bunch of my coworkers.

"Come on, it's been three weeks. You need to do something, hon," Lita encourages, and I can't help but scoff.

Of course I know it's been three weeks.

Three weeks since Seiya moved out of our home and into a two bedroom apartment.

Three weeks since we enforced our custody arrangement.

Three weeks since my daughter told me she hates me and my son began barely speaking to me.

"I'd rather not," I reaffirm.

Lita sighs, but is a smart enough person not to push the subject further. "Okay, but, if you change your mind, we're going to Luck."

"'kay."

Lita lingers at my desk a moment longer, but I refuse to look up and initiate any sort of further conversation. I just want to focus on my work. I don't want to think about anything else _but_ work. Work is… work. There's a job to do here. I need to review this deposition, check for discrepancies, and see how it is applicable, if at all, to our case. I don't want to think about Seiya and how he has my kids tonight. How he is tucking them into their new beds. How he is cooking them a dinner for three. How he is there, entertaining them, without me.

The noise of clicking heels alerts me that she has moved on. I don't mean to be a bitch and come up short, but I don't want to talk to anyone.

It has been an absolute miserable month.

I knew that it would be difficult. Losing Seiya, telling the kids; but, damn, I didn't expect it to hurt so much. I mean, I know that he is right, that we became strangers to each other, falling out of love. But I can't help but long for him more than I ever have before. To have him next to me in bed. To tell him about my day. To listen to his breathing, his gentle snore when I randomly wake up in the middle of the night. How his pillow always smelled like his shampoo.

I throw the paperwork on my desk and drop my head into my hands. This is why I didn't want an interruption. This is why I wanted to solely focus on my work. I don't _want_ to think all these fucking sad thoughts. I don't want my eyes filling with tears, or my throat to constrict as I try to fight them back for the millionth time.

I want to focus on Inperium's case. Not me. Not my sad, miserable, pathetic life.

I stare at my desk; more particularly, a photo of Seiya and I. It sits there, framed, protected by a thin, cheap plastic I bought at the dollar store. It's an older photo, maybe seven or eight years old, but it's a favorite of mine. We're laughing. Actually laughing. Why, I don't remember. But, we're… happy.

And now we're separated.

With a quick flick of the wrist, I slam it downward, unwilling to allow that picture to continue to sit there and mock me, taunt me with past memories of happiness, of love in my life. Now I'm alone, with my husband living in his bachelor pad, my kids hating me.

I knew the kids would take it hard. I would be a fool to believe that they wouldn't hurt and would understand from day one. The problem is, Elsie solely blames _me._ After all, I'm the one still in the house. Dad's the one that "had" to leave. He's the one who had to "start over." As much as I want to tell her how wrong she is, how her Dad told _me_ he was leaving, how he told me the _day after_ he asked for the separation that he found an apartment, I can't bring myself to hurt her any further then she already is.

I've kept my tongue in check. After all, he is their dad; who am I to villainize him?

Plus, she's only eleven. Almost twelve. She wouldn't understand. Not yet, not now.

So I let her continue to use me as her dart board. I keep her in check when it starts to go too far, but by that time, she's storming up to her room and blasting her stereo.

Alex has been the complete opposite. He barely speaks to me or Seiya. Instead, he plays video games. He comes home from school or soccer and immediately goes into his room and turns on one of his games. Lately I think it's Minecraft. I approached him the other day and offered to get him the new Spiderman game, but he didn't answer me. Didn't even turn his head to tell me yes or no. Just went on… ignoring me.

I can only pray that as the weeks go on that things get better. It _has_ to get better.

Right?

#

It's 6:00 when I hear the doorbell ring.

"Kids, your Dad is here," I call up the stairwell. The doorbell. My husband, whose name is on the deed and mortgage to this house, the one we picked out together when I was pregnant with Alex, who painted this living room the sage green color I begged him to concede to, is ringing the fucking doorbell.

I open the door, Seiya standing on the other side, his hands buried in his front pockets. Man, must he look so good? Dark washed jeans, a red and blue plaid button down, the sleeves rolled up just enough that I can see his tattoo? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I swallow hard. "Hi," I croak.

"Hey," he responds uneasily.

"They'll be right down," I tell him, getting straight to the point.

"Okay, thanks." A few moments of silence engulf us as we wait for the sound of footsteps, but so far nothing.

"Do you want to come in?"

He shakes his head. "No, that's okay."

"Okay."

Another moment of silence passes while we awkwardly try avoid looking at each other. At least, I'm desperately trying not to notice the way his hair is styled, the way his shirt fits on his shoulder, how I can see that he's building a bit more muscle than I've seen before, or haven't actually stopped to notice before.

How he… is wearing an earring?

My brows snap together in recognition. He hasn't worn his earring in years.

Is it because he's…. _single?_

I continue to eye the earring, questions blowing through my mind like a freight train, until I see a distinct mark on his neck peeking over his collar _juuuuuust_ enough that it becomes obvious to me what it is:

a fucking _hickey._

He's… fooling around… with someone _._

He's _fucking around_ with someone.

I can feel my eyes widen in sync with my heart racing, my breath staggering as I try to process what the fuck I am staring at. Before I can say something, anything, to call him out, the kids barrel past me, duffel bags and backpacks scraping nosily against them as they rush out of the house.

"Kids, say goodbye to your Mom," Seiya chastises them as they walk out the door without saying anything, shaking his head as they continue on to his car. "I'm sorry," he says sympathetically as he tosses me a look of pity. I nod my head dumbly, finally snapping out of my trance when I hear the door shut.

As soon as I hear the car pull out of the driveway, I scream.

I cry out in anguish, the mourning, the pain finally taking course. In a burst of rare Hulkish likeliness, I flip the coffee table over, magazines and the remote flying as I do so.

It has ONLY been THREE weeks.

THREE.

That's twenty one days!

Twenty one days it took for him to start fooling around with some hussy. Some whore. Some slut who probably sucks him and fucks him and … _AUGH._

I feel possessed. I grab at my hair, collapsing on the couch in tears. Not only did he fall out of love with me, but he was _so quick_ to replace me. Kissing _her._ Touching _her._ Doing things to _her_ that he used to do to me.

Anger suddenly courses through me. If he's going to go ahead and mindlessly fuck someone new, well, so am I! I'm no nun! I'm not some ruined woman!

Fuck him.

Fuck her.

I storm upstairs and into my bedroom, hastily going through my closet as I seek out the perfect outfit. I finally settle on a strappy turquoise cami and dark blue skinny jeans, throwing them on as quickly as I can. I touch up my makeup, adding on a darker shade of lipstick, before digging out my hardly worn Michael Kors pumps.

I'm going to Luck. I'm going to find Lita and company, I'm going to get drunk, and if all goes well, I'm going to go ahead and find me a nice companion tonight.

If he can fuck around, so can I.

After all, we're not married anymore.

He didn't want to be married to me anymore.

He wanted to fuck someone new.

Well, so can I!

I grab my phone and pull up my Lyft app, ordering a car before I talk myself out of this. I storm downstairs to grab my winter coat and my purse, but stop short of the coffee table.

Yes.

Continue to stare at the coffee table, Serena. Think of the rage, the anger, the hurt.

Don't think about how you wish it was you. Don't think about how you wish Seiya was touching you.

Not _her_.

Not… _her_.

Who is this _her_.

Why is _her_ better than me?

#

"Serena!" Lita's voice carries over the crowd of the bar when she spots me. I am slightly impressed, considering I normally don't come out, and I thought I made myself clear that I wasn't going to be.

Still, I am thankful for her cheerfulness at my appearance. In fact, it makes me feel slightly better.

I weave through the groups of mingling folk, many still dressed in their work clothes, easily on their second or third glass of something.

"You came!" she exclaims as she wraps her free arm around me, circling me towards the little group that she's acquired. "Serena, you know Ken, Greg, Kari and Tammy; this is Diamond, Logan, Erin and Cynthie. They work at MesTique."

"Oh, the marketing firm!" I reply in recognition of the company name. They smile and nod their heads politely before turning their attention back to their drinks and dialogue.

"Well, that was quickly lived," I mutter as I turn back to Lita, who waves her hand dismissively.

"Forget them. So, what changed your mind?" Lita asks excitedly as she flags down the bartender.

"Hah, got time?" I sneer as the bartender approaches. "Shot of Jameson and a vodka soda, double," I order quickly, throwing down my credit card in the process.

"Tell me," she insists as I watch the bartender pour the Jameson into the glass. I reach for it and down it quickly.

"Seiya picked up the kids today."

"Okay."

"And I noticed he put his earring back in, right?"

"Okay."

"And, so, like, he hasn't worn this earring in years, right? He took it out when the kids were young and tugging on _everything_ , and he made this stupid declaration about how he's a Dad and Dad's don't wear earrings and all this stupid shit because I, you know, was all upset he took it out because it concluded the days of rocker Seiya, right?"

"So, he put the earring back in," Lita paraphrases to me. I nod and continue.

"But, I noticed something else."

"What?"

"Under the earring, in the space between his ear and his collar, was a hickey."

"What?"

"A FUCKING HICKEY," I shout as I grab my drink off the bar, sipping at the potent cocktail.

"What the fuck?!"

"Right?"

"You mean that he, he's, he's…"

I take another lengthy sip. "Yup."

"That dick! What a fucking… augh! What is wrong with him?"

"Well, he's a bachelor now," I spit.

"I'm going to chop his dick off!"

I snort. "Good!"

"I'm going to fucking channel some thunder and strike his ass, man. What the hell is _wrong_ with him? It hasn't even been a month!"

"I know."

"That's disgusting. That pig. That asshole!"

"Yep."

"I just can't believe it! I am, I am so sorry."

I feel it, the sadness. It's starting to bubble inside me, course through my veins to try and water down the searing hot blood of anger.

No.

No.

I blink a few times, willing away the tears.

My eyes scan the room, looking for someone of the opposite sex to talk to. Someone. Anyone. Someone who is attractive, someone who is conversational, someone who is—

"What's his story?" I say with a pointed finger to the platinum blonde man. Lita's eyes sparkle with intrigue.

"Diamond? He's a senior marketing executive. Works exclusively on jewelry advertising," she adds as she stirs at her cocktail.

"Oh?"

"35, Princeton grad, recently single," she adds with a wink. She knows the game I'm playing. She knows it very, very well.

I grin.

We chat a bit more before I see Diamond's group break. Seizing the opportunity, I slither in next to him, placing my empty glass next to his before I turn at smile at him.

"Diamond, right?"

I must have startled him, because he noticeably flinches. "Oh, I'm sorry!" I exclaim.

He gives me a small, tight smile. "No, that's okay. And yes, Diamond. Diamond LeVonte."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Serena Kou. I work with Lita at Wilford and Shields," I introduce, but not before concluding with what I hope is a dazzling smile.

"Nice to meet you," he replies courteously.

"So, Lita mentioned you work on jewelry advertising?"

Diamond nods. "Yes."

I smile. "That's pretty clever. Your name is Diamond, and you work on selling diamonds."

I see Diamond's already tight smile falter. "Huh?"

"The irony. I think it's ingenious!"

Diamond, however, doesn't seem to find humor in the correlation. "Are you making fun of my name?"

 _Shit._ "No, not at all! I was just saying the connection between the… name… and… your profession," I trail off as Diamond turns away from me, clearly disinterested in anything else I have to say.

Welp, I blew that one really quickly.

#

I don't recall the last time I stayed out at a bar this late.

Like, a real bar, in the city, on a Friday night that did not involve any sort of pretense.

But alas, here I am, three double vodka sodas and four shots in, and I am in no mood to end the evening.

Many of the happy hour attendees left, those of us fairly intoxicated hanging around. So far I've played darts, pool, and laughed and talked about everything from work to traffic patterns to my obsession with Thai food.

And man, it feels… good.

It feels _so_ good.

I'm me.

Serena.

Not Mom. Not Missus Kou.

It feels so liberating. So, empowering.

My mission to get under a new man is long abandoned. Oddly enough, so is my anger and sadness.

Lita is currently sitting on Ken's lap, using her hands to describe how to properly apply a c-ring, and I'm sucked in. Why? I don't know. It's perverse. It's dirty. It's so strange to listen to.

But I'm hooked.

Maybe it's because I didn't know what exactly a c-ring… I mean, a _couples ring_ was meant to do. Maybe it's because I've been so sheltered from the nuances of sex nowadays. Maybe it's because it's something that has nothing to do with anything in my life.

I look around the bar, my eyes grazing the patrons at the bar, the tables, crowded around the various sources of entertainment. They all look so engaged, so free, unlatched from their everyday responsibilities and enjoying a few hours of fun.

It's fun to be fun.

I smile. I'm glad I came out tonight. In fact, I resolve to myself that I'm going to try and make happy hour a more normal occurrence. Maybe not a stay out all night event every time, but every other Friday, I'm going to come out for a drink or two. Hang out with coworkers. Make new friends. Build on my preexisting friendships.

Just as I'm about to say something to the group, my eyes catch a very familiar figure across the way. He doesn't see me. At least, I don't think so. His black hair is falling loosely over his forehead, his pinstriped shirtsleeves folded up neatly, exposing his forearms. He's smiling, no – laughing – into a short glass of amber liquid at whatever the blonde next to him said. She's touching his bicep. She's stretching out those ruby red lips of hers in his direction, begging to be caressed by him.

My smile falters as I snap my eyes away.

Who cares if my boss is on a date?

He's my boss; he's not even my friend.

So why am I bugged out by this?

I train my eyes to stay focused on Lita, but I can't help but flutter them over to him again. This time she's presenting her tits to him. I scoff. They're practically out on the _bar_ her shirt is so low-cut. It's appalling! Is that what we're supposed to do nowadays, have our nips popping out of our shirt? What's wrong with dressing nicely? I mean, sure, dress sexy, but not like a whore!

Just as I am about to turn my attention away before her vag is presented to the scene, Royal blue irises catch mine.

 _Fuck._


	10. Chapter 9

Darien smiles from across the bar and waves.

I, too, smile and wave back, although no where near as suave.

Before I can register what the hell are the odds of me being in the same bar as Darien Shields and his scantily clad date, having a front row seat of the events leading up to the personal afterparty they're likely going to be having, I see him get up. I watch him move, in my general direction, the blonde left in her chair.

My heart races with each step he takes, how the black material of his dress pants ripple against his thighs with each motion of his leg. How relaxed he looks with his sleeves rolled up. How his hair, loose from the comb job he had earlier this morning, makes him look more youthful, boyish as opposed to the styled locks I see on a daily basis.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you right now," he says as he approaches me, his eyes shifting around nervously. I take a quick glance across the bar and notice that the girl across the way is watching us, her eyes observing our interaction. Before I know it, he embraces me.

 _Dear God!_ My heart is pounding at the feel of his chest against me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the warmth he radiates.

"Help me," he pleads into my ear, and I'm all too willing to oblige. I wrap my arm around his, closing my eyes as he sways me as a lover would. He smells like a combination of spice and cocoa beans, reminding me of Mexican hot chocolate, and I feel myself melt into him.

When he pulls away from me, I feel a pang of disappointment. I never thought in a lifetime did I think I'd ever feel his body pressed up against mine, and now he has given me a hug?! I don't care what the reason is, I'll take some of that any day!

"Thank you," he thanks in a hushed voice. "I can't stand that girl."

I raise my eyebrow. "Really?"

He shakes his head adamantly. "God, no. Look at her."

I purse my lips in disbelief. "You looked like you were having a good time over there."

He smiles, the one that I've been accustomed to, but it still gets me every time. "Spying on me?"

I sputter. "No! Not at all! I, well, her tits! They were, ya know, just, out there for anyone to see! Like, in my face, even though I'm, uh, over here! And this conversation has officially become inappropriate," I trail off, looking away from him in embarrassment.

My cheeks immediately flush when I hear him start to laugh. "Oh, shut up," I pout as I swat at him. He continues to laugh, but not before putting his hand on my forearm.

"I'm just teasing you," he says with a chuckle, the skin where his hand briefly touched me tingling from the rush. "Trust me, they were out. Too out."

"Right?!"

"I'm all for women dressing sexy, but there's a way to doing it. It's an art, in my opinion," he states while taking a sip of his drink, mirroring my own thoughts I had a few moments ago.

"I agree completely," I say with a head nod. "I was worried that I was going to have to start dressing like that or something."

Darien's eyes snap up at me, immediately making eye contact. "Wait, what?"

I tense my jaw. "Eh, uh, nothing. It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

My mouth presses into a thin line. Fuck. Why do I keep saying stupid lines about my failing… no, failed marriage in front of him?

I sigh. Why lie? "Seiya and I separated."

Surprise cloaks his face. "What? Really?"

I nod my head. "Yeah, over Christmas break," I add to my confirmation.

"I'm sorry," he responds sympathetically. I don't know if it's the booze or the fact that I've been pity-partying enough for myself, but I don't want his sympathy. I want to appear strong in front of him, not weak. Not sad.

I shake my head, dismissing his apology. "It's okay, it's for the best."

He gives me a half-smile, as if he's telling me it's okay to say more. When I turn my attention back to my drink instead, he lets out a huge sigh of relief.

"Thank god, she's gone," he suddenly says. I chuckle at his reprieve.

"Glad to be of service," I say as I salute two fingers towards him, tossing in a wink for good measure. He laughs again, that deep, luscious melody warming my soul.

"Oh, I see, eager to get rid of me already?" he asks.

"Wait, what, no?" I sputter at his question. "I just assumed?"

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses, finishing off his drink in one swoop and placing it on the bar top. "I owe ya one. When you're ready for your next drink, come find me and I'll get you one." I feel my heart pounding as I watch him stand up to leave, desperately seeking words to try to get him to stay, but I'm stunned silent when I feel his fingertips graze my shoulder. They brush against me slowly as he walks away, leaving a tingly path in its wake. I peek my eyes over my shoulder, watching him walk away, his backside more delicious than his front. When I lose him in the crowd, I shake myself out of whatever trance I allowed myself to fall into.

"Someone's got it baaaaaaad."

I frown. "Shut up, no I don't."

Lita grins behind her martini glass. "You're a bad liar."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. You're wrong."

"And who wouldn't have it bad? Man, he is one find specimen of man meat. Dear God, I can only imagine what he looks underneath that shirt," she muses while taking in a lengthy sip of her green tinted drink. I drop the mock-annoyed face, unable to stop my own trailing thoughts. Considering how firm his chest felt in that brief, faux hug, I'd love to see just how sculpted he is underneath.

"Yeah, me too," I whisper into my drink, my eyes floating back in his general direction. He's clearly moved on from conversing with me, his attention on a group of four well dressed men. I watch for a few moments longer before I turn back to my own group, the individuals I once was having a fun time with now seeming to dull in comparison.

I stretch out a smile and force myself to engage, but I can't help but feel a sense of longing. I know that we've been kind of awkward with one another since the Christmas party, and that surely doesn't help much, but still, Darien and I held a great conversation before. At least, from what I recall of it we did. It flowed. I don't think I was boring. Maybe I was. Maybe he only stuck with me that night out of pity, not because he wanted to be my friend.

Sigh. I've officially bummed myself out.

"Excuse me?"

I whirl my head around to a new voice, a smiling face complemented with brown eyes behind thick black frames and shaggy hair standing next to me.

"Uh, yes?"

He smiles wider. "I noticed your drink was getting a little low, so I ordered you a new gin and tonic."

I return a polite smile and accept the drink, despite it being incorrect. "Why thank you, that's really nice of –"

"And," he interrupts, "I can't help but notice you look like my next girlfriend."

I blink a couple of times from the horrible pick-up line. "Come again?"

"You have lovely eyes," he randomly adds. I continue to sit in my seat, completely puzzled by this bizarre encounter.

"Um, thanks?"

"You're welcome, beautiful," he purrs as he moves in closer to me. I try to move myself a bit away from him, finding his distance a little startling.

"Call me Mel," he suddenly informs me. "Do you have a band-aid?"

"Huh?"

"Because I scraped my knees falling for you."

My jaw slackens slightly. "Uh…."

"Do you believe in life… after love?"

"What?" Is this guy for real?

"I can feel something inside me say—"

"Are you quoting Cher to me right now?"

"—I really don't think you're strong enough… to be without a real man tonight."

Okay, I've had enough. "Um, listen, Mel," I respond flatly, "this," I point my finger between him and I quickly, "isn't gonna happen."

He drops the goofy grin. "But, why?"

"I mean, I appreciate the effort here of you coming up to me, but, I'm just, ya know…" I trail off, trying to find a way to get him to leave me alone. I turn to Lita for help, but she's currently fastened to Ken's face.

"Do you like Indian food?

"Uh—" I stammer out, slapping my hand on the bar to desperately try to get Lita's attention.

"Because I know a great little place nearby."

I shake my head. "Mel, like I said, this isn't going to happen."

He purses his lips. "Are you always so shut down, and—"

I squint my eyes while talking over him. "Why do I feel you are quoting the movie Hitch? I seriously feel like I'm living that scene out right now."

"—afraid that the right man might make you feel like a natural woman?"

"That line is from Hitch," I state.

"Well, let's go to dinner and debate if it is or not," he suggests yet again.

"I'm sorry, she's not available," a familiar, angelic, savior of a third voice interjects, and my heart swoons, especially when I feel his presence behind me, hovering over me, guarding me.

Mel pulls his attention off of me and looks above me. "Oh?"

Darien places his hand on my shoulder, and I can't help but feel my heart leap at the skin-to-skin contact I'm experiencing _again!_ "No," he reaffirms strongly. Man, I wish I could see the look on Darien's face, because the look of fear I see flicker across Mel's features is downright hilarious.

I capitalize on the opportunity. "Bye bye, Mel." He shuffles his feet before turning away from us and losing himself in the crowd. I turn my body towards Darien, tilting my head up at him.

"Hey, you're nice!" I exclaim.

"You looked like you needed some saving of your own tonight," Darien mused with a headshake. "What, is it weirdo's night out or something?"

I giggle slightly. "Wouldn't that make us weirdos then?"

Darien shrugs. "I guess so. What the hell was that guy saying to you?"

I shake my head, still in disbelief from the shear stupidity of the conversation. "Ever seen Hitch?"

"Yeah."

"Literally, it was the scene from the bar. I mean, verbatim."

Darien winces his face. "Ouch."

"Yeah. I must have 'desperate' tattooed on my head or something to attract that kind of attention."

"Nah," he says with a dismissive wave. "He saw a pretty girl in a bar. I must say he has some confidence approaching you."

My heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

Darien noticeably stills. "Uh, um…"

I grin, covering my mouth as I chuckle at his embarrassment. Finally, I'm not the only one who has said something stupid!

"What I mean is, uh…"

"It's okay," I reassure him, still swooning from the complement.

"Well, it's true," he says matter-of-factly, "and as an attorney, I am obligated to say the facts."

I laugh, fluttering my eyes up towards him, my heart warmed at how awkward he looks. It's absolutely adorable. "Okay."

He sits down beside me, placing his drink on the bar. "I've had, one too many of these tonight it seems."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Because I'm normally not that, um,"

"I get it. Trust me."

"Not that I'm discrediting what I say—"

"I know," I reassure.

"—because you're _beautiful—_."

There goes my heart swooning again. "Thank you."

"—but I can't say that stuff out loud—"

"It's okay, really."

"—because then I look like I'm trying to hit on you after that weird guy totally did, and failed, but regardless—"

"You're rambling."

"—I'm going to go over there now."

I can't help but smirk as he shuffles off into the crowd, losing him again to a sea of people, but this time I'm smirking. I'm not sure if it's from the save, or the complement, or how adorably awkward he was, but I'm grinning ear to ear.

"What'd I miss?" Lita suddenly chimes in, her lips obviously swollen from attacking Ken's mouth for the entire duration of the events that just unfolded. I can't help to roll my eyes at her, but I'm still smiling regardless.

"How did you miss all that? Geez, way to be a failure of a wing woman, Lita!" I say, but my words hardly hold weight over her girlish giggling.

"Sorry!" she giggles as she flips her chestnut ponytail over her shoulder. "Girl, fill me in!"

#

It's 1:00 when I decide to finally call it a night. My ride is about 10 minutes away, so I make the decision to grab my coat from the coat-check and wait for my Lyft to pull up.

And, of course, in line, grabbing his coat as well, is Darien.

"We seem to have a habit of running into one another, it seems," I muse as I approach behind him. He turns around with a low chuckle.

"It would appear so. Leaving?"

"Yeah, my ride is almost here," I say as I lift up my phone to show him, like I'm trying to validate the coincidence. He smiles and nods before turning back to the line. We move up slowly, two girls behind the counter grabbing tickets and exchanging coats. When we start to approach the counter, I can't help but pay extra attention when Darien is next. I'm eyeing him, trying to count the amount of tickets he is handing over, when I'm startled out of my scoping mission by a very insistent _"next!"_

"I, uh, yeah, sorry," I stammer as I hand the visibly irritated woman behind the bar. She disappears to the closet behind her, just in time for the woman helping Darien to return with what I see as only one coat. Meaning, he's probably going home alone tonight! Which also means that hussy across the bar really was a desperate floozy trying to proposition him! I can't help when a smirk slithers on my face.

"So," Darien begins as he grabs his coat, "do you come here often?"

I shake my head no. "This is my first time, actually. Lita invited me."

"Ah. I didn't think so," Darien replied as he began to put his black, wool trench coat on.

"Why, do you?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"It's a nice place," I add.

"Yeah."

"Here you go," the impatient woman says as she passes my coat over to me with a huff. I frown at the obvious rude behavior, but quickly move on as I shuffle out of the line and into the hallway. I attempt to balance myself and put my coat on while holding my purse, phone, and walk at the same time, but to add insult to injury, I stumble in my heels and wind up falling into a wall. Of course, a graceful way to the end my evening.

As if this night couldn't get any more strange in front of Darien.

He must be thinking the same thing, because I hear a soft chuckle before he holds out his hand. "Let me help you with that," he offers as he reaches for my coat.

"Oh, thank you," I say as I turn my back to him, reaching my arms backward so I can slip them into the sleeves.

Such a simple, kind gesture, really; a man helping a woman with her coat. It shouldn't be a big deal, right?

So why do my arms tingle as I feel the liner of the sleeves grace my bare arms? The material slides up slowly, tantalizing my senses, until I feel the weight of the jacket upon my shoulders. His fingers graze my neck as he removes his hands, brushing against my skin softly. Unexpectedly, I feel his hand sweep under my hair, pulling the trapped length out from underneath my collar, my scalp tingling at the motion of movement. I don't know if it's the lack of intimacy in my life, or the alcohol, but this moment feels so god damn erotic that I might bust.

For a second, I think I'm imaging things, that I'm convincing myself of these feelings fluttering inside of me, but I feel his fingers smooth my shoulders. They trickle down my arm, to my sides, to my waist; delicately, softly, like an angel's touch. I close my eyes to the sensation, pins and needles flowing through me, my breathing quickening under his touch.

I hear him take a breath behind me, and I'm about 99.9% sure he's about to say something, when the phone in my hand goes off.

 _Damn it._

"My ride is here," I say in a voice that sounds like I've just run a marathon. I internally whimper when I feel him remove his hands quickly. I turn my head towards him, peeking over my shoulder, drinking in the sight of him. The way his bangs are falling over his eyes, the gentle smile that is painted on his face, the deep, rich blue hue his eyes, and how they're looking at me. Only me.

"Thank you."

"Have a good night, Serena," he says huskily. I suck in a deep breath, the tone of his voice sending shivers down my spine. I nod quickly, erratically even, as I make my way to the doorway, my heart pounding louder with each step I take.

As I approach the red sedan parked at the curb, I shake my head in disbelief. All he did was help me into my coat. He was being a gentleman. He was being kind after a klutzy moment of me fumbling with my stuff. It didn't mean anything.

So why do I feel like this?

So…

So…

 _Turned on?_

* * *

 **A/N:** I had way too much fun thinking about this chapter that I couldn't wait to write it XD From the awkwardness to the start of the sexiness, I hope that you had fun reading it!

Sorry to everyone who thought this was the prelude to the scene from the prologue XD I promise, it's coming soon!

Thank you everyone for reading! Let me know how you'd liked it!


	11. Chapter 10

Hey guys! I know it's been almost a month... thank you to all of you who reached out to me and (very enthusiastically) asked about when this was coming!

This chapter is a bit of a shake up: Darien's POV! What's going on in that mind of his?

A HUGE, GRACIOUS, CHEERLEADER-ESQUE shoutout to Pia Bartolini, who took the time to Beta this and include some fantastic edits, formatting, and cleanup to this chapter! I worked this story in sections and it was definitely not pretty. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!

Please leave a review and let me know how you like it!

* * *

She's here late again.

I study her from my doorway, transfixed. What admin voluntarily sticks around until nine on a Friday night?

As much as I know I should look away, I can't help but catalog every detail. The way her eyebrows are snapped together, her gaze fringed by careless, easy curls as she reviews a deposition I don't recall passing her way.

Damn.

I cross my arms and frown, but I can't stop. What is it about her that I can't stop thinking about her? She's my assistant. My _married_ assistant. _Remember, she's splitting from her husband_. I raise my eyebrows and contemplate the news Serena shared at the bar two weeks ago.

While it's true, I can't help but remember my own divorce. How much it fucking hurt when I found out she cheated on me. Cheated _and_ conceived, no less, and how thrilled she was. So quick to leave me to marry him instead and have the baby I wouldn't give her.

Thankfully, my iron-clad pre-nup and my colleagues processing the divorce paperwork kept my wallet from being screwed over as well. But I'd be a damn liar if I didn't admit I think about it, still. What my life might look like if I hadn't refused to start a family with her, younger than I planned.

Instead, here I am. Unable to stop thinking about a woman who, ironically enough, has kids. And not just kids, _older_ kids. I had honestly assumed that the girl with her at Starbucks a few months ago really was her sister. I must have looked like a complete idiot when I put two and two together.

Her position changes, setting down the paperwork to check her watch, and I hastily drop my gaze. I know this is the prime opportunity to turn away, but I watch furtively instead. Maybe she's wising up and about to head home rather than stick around here. After all, it's late. If she leaves, maybe I can get back to my own work rather than stand here and stare at her like some love-struck buffoon.

I watch as Serena lifts her purse up and pull out a sleeve of bright orange-tinted crackers. No. That's not what I think it is, is it? Processed peanut butter sandwich crackers? I gulp as I watch her tear at the plastic sleeve and place the horrible excuse of a meal on her desk and return to her task.

I'm about to do something stupid. I can just feel it.

My left heel lifts off the floor and I find myself moving toward her desk.

Why?

Why am I doing this?

 _Because you want to get to know her better._

I inwardly groan; why am I so stupid?

By the time I reach her, I am officially berating myself. This is inappropriate. Unprofessional. Senseless. Yet, I can't stop the words from falling out of my mouth.

"You're still here?"

Her eyes leave the black and white print of the deposition and meet mine. I have never seen such a shade of blue before; like the indigo of a lake at sunrise. _Woah, Shields, when the hell did you start thinking like that? So. Much. Cheese._

She definitely appears startled, and guilty? "Yeah, I hope that's okay…" she trails off. It's unmistakable, the flicker of emotion that crosses her face as she gives me a small smile. It doesn't take me long to understand the why for her staying late; I used to do the exact same thing.

She doesn't want to go home to an empty house.

I give her a reassuring smile. "What are you looking at?" I ask as I nod my head towards her paperwork.

Her expression turns serious. "I've been reviewing this deposition, and there's something that, I don't know, just doesn't add up."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she continues, "it's for Jacobson v. PharmaMed. I'm reading the interview with the complainant and something's…" she pauses, as if she's trying to find the right word, "off."

"Off?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean by 'off?'" I inquire, my curiosity piqued. I have a crack team of attorneys and paralegals working this case.

"I know it's none of my business, or even my job, so I'm sorry if I'm butting in, but…" Serena lets out a deep breath. "She's lying."

"How do you figure?"

My eyes track her slender form as she stands up from her desk and leans in to show me the paperwork, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat. Her perfume invades my senses, the slightest tease of her cleavage peeking out the top of the v-neck button-up she is wearing.

I gulp again and desperately try to refocus my attention to the words on the paper and NOT her chest.

"See here? She talks about how she used the product exactly as the instructions detail?"

 _She smells so fucking good_. "Yeah."

"And that she explains here, in great detail, how she applied the product, where she applied the product, and the reaction she received?"

 _She looks so confident right now._ "Yes."

"I've used this product."

I blink a few times in surprise, definitely not expecting that piece of information. "What?"

"That's why I wanted to read this. I hope that's okay. I wanted to know if my child was at risk, and, well..."

I shake my head in disbelief. "And you found a discrepancy instead." Damn. I'm impressed.

"Yeah," she continues on, and I can hear the excitement build with each word she speaks. "This isn't how you use the product at all." I listen to her as she explains how one uses the product, an eczema cream, and how it's supposed to be properly applied.

"My son had a bout of eczema a year ago," she adds, "it was on the back of his knee. We had to take him to the dermatologist and they prescribed this. It's strong; really, really strong. You have to really use a teeny, tiny amount otherwise it can cause the reaction that she had. And from this description, it seems she lathered her arms up instead, which is why she got these burn-like scabs."

I stand there dumbfounded.

"So I took the liberty of pulling the instructions from the manufacturer, and it does reference using a pea-sized amount in the instructions. In the deposition, Jacobson says here that she 'rubbed the affected area with a nickel-sized amount of product'. That's what got me. A nickel-sized amount is what I'd use if I was using a hand lotion, not a topical steroid."

I take the deposition and the instruction sheet from Serena and look at the wording. Sure as shit, she's right. She is absolutely right. I look up from the paperwork and back to her, mind completely blown. How is it that a team of legal professionals missed this, but my assistant caught it?

"I think you just made our case." And I mean it. From my last update with the team, they were considering settling. After all, the burns and scarring on the complainant were compelling. But right there, in the paperwork of the deposition that our own attorneys performed, was the compelling argument that would prove perjury.

She smiles.

Her lips become a crescent moon, the gleam of her teeth the stars. It's a beautiful, romantic evening right there on her face. To anyone else, that smile may seem ordinary. But to me? Right there, it makes me feel things no smile ever has. A giddy, detached rush. Momentary bliss.

I am captivated by this alluring creature. And fucking doomed.

"Dinner."

The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to doubt myself. "It's the least I can do."

I almost implode when I see her cheeks stain slightly. "You don't have to do that," she insists, but I find myself wanting to. I want to so, so bad. I want, no… I _need_ to spend more time with her.

"You like Thai food?"

I nearly topple over when her smile widens and the dimples form on her cheek.

#

My palms sweat against laminated paper.

Not like I need to look at the menu; I never deviate from Chicken Pad Thai. But I know the second I put it down, I'll want to look at her again. Study her face, the curve of her nose, the frame of her jaw, the way her hair tumbles around her.

My menu hiding space is short-lived, as the waiter comes to take our drink order.

 _Shit Shields, are you in_ _high school? Act like a grown ass man and face her!_

"Can I offer you something to drink?" he inquires with a click of his pen. I motion to Serena, allowing her to go first.

"Can I do the lemongrass tea, please? And a glass of water?"

"I'll have the same thing," I add a little too quickly. I'm about to comment on the coincidence of our drink choice when the waiter speaks first.

"And to eat?"

"Oh! Um," Serena says with a pause, "Pad Woon Sen? With chicken, please."

"Of course. How many stars?"

"4 stars."

"Four?" I interject with surprise. Yikes, that's spicy!

She closes her menu and hands it to the waiter. "Yup, 4 stars."

"Wow. Um, you realize that's going to be really hot, right?"

Serena raises her eyebrow to me. "I know; I love spicy food."

I shake my head in disbelief. "If you say so. I'll do Pad Thai, chicken, 1 star, please." The waiter jots down the order and shortly thereafter disappears.

"I take it you're not a fan of heat, then?" Serena inquires. I shrug.

"I like a little spice, but not to the level where I can't feel my face."

"Oh come on, a four isn't _that_ bad," she insists with a giggle.

"Not that bad? I can barely handle a 2, let alone a 4!" I grimace.

"So I take it then when you order hot wings, they're not, ya know, actual _hot_ wings?"

"Nope. I like mine with garlic and parmesan, actually. And boneless, not bone-in."

Her nose wrinkles. "So, you like chicken nuggets?"

"Chicken nu—wha?"

"Boneless wings are basically chicken nuggets, just tossed in sauce! Or in your case, oil, garlic and cheese." She's teasing me. Which means she's more comfortable with me. Which ultimately means, she might be flirting with me?

Woah woah woah woah. "They are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

She puts her hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine, they're not." After a few seconds, we both start laughing at the ridiculousness of the conversation we've just had.

"That's a good one," I muse as I prop my head on my fist, "chicken nuggets. Now I'll never not think of them as that." She giggles again, her peachy cheeks so youthful that I am again bewildered by the maturity she possesses, the intelligence she exhibits, set against the refreshing pure joy that she emits. It's such a change from the other people in my life; intellectuals, yes, but flat on the entertainment side. Serena is a breath of fresh air; hell, she's a gust of enchantment. The more that I see her, the more I want to spend time with her.

And now that I'm spending more time with her, suddenly I want to know more about her life.

I open my mouth, about to indulge my curiosity, but our dinner has arrived. Sizzling noodles and pungent aromatics snap my mouth shut, but it's worth it. The look on Serena's face when the dish is placed in front of her is equivalent to a child receiving an ice cream cone: pure bliss.

"I take it you enjoy Thai food," I say, snapping apart my chopsticks.

"It is easily my favorite cuisine," she sighs wistfully. "I don't get to enjoy it nearly as often as I should."

"No?"

"Yeah," she suddenly trails off, and once again, I want to put my foot in my mouth. _There you've gone and spoiled the evening, dumbass._ She's quick to recover, however, as she snaps her attention back to me with a wide smile. "But, now I guess I'll have more of an excuse to, won't I?"

Again, I see it, the front us divorcees put on when trying to be brave.

I never want to see that mask again.

"So, how spicy is it?" I motion to her as she swirls her chopsticks around in her noodles.

"Oh, pretty spicy," she replies with a grin. "Just right. Want to take a bite?"

The playful girl is back. Her eyes twinkling, a mischievous glint beckoning me to play along. Before my mind is fully aware of what the hell I am doing, I reach my chopsticks over to her plate and clasp the translucent noodle. I swear, I can see the peppers radiating heat as I lift it up. _Fuck, I am going to regret this._ Slowly, I bring them back over to my mouth, deeply, deeply regretting this decision, and pop the noodle into my mouth.

As I begin to chew, I feel the spice take over. My arms, ears, back, neck, I swear goosebumps are spreading like wildfire, the passages in my nose opening and an uncommon amount of snot wanting to drop out. My eyes widen with each bite I take, each one more painful than the next.

But it was worth it.

The laughter on her face, the way she tips her chin back as she giggles, those dimples creasing her cheeks as her smile widens was well worth the misery. My pained swallows and guzzles of water are accompanied by peals of laughter.

And I have no regrets.

#

"Can I ask you something?"

She nods. "Sure thing."

"How come you didn't go back to law school?"

Our pace slows slightly on our stroll back to the office, and I watch as her face transmutes into a variety of expressions. "I'm sorry," I suddenly say, "it's none of my business." Damn it, I ruined this nice night with my big mouth.

She shakes her head. "No, it's okay. I did," she answers. "When Elsie turned one I went back."

I wince. That had to be tough. "Oh."

She sighs with a shrug of her shoulders. "It was too much. A full class load, working, and raising an infant? Something had to give. And daycare, well, she had to be in daycare. And school doesn't exactly pay the bills, you know?"

"No it does not." I've heard the horror stories from friends and colleagues alike; daycare was as much as a mortgage payment.

"I mean, it worked out in the end, I like to think. I work in the same field, just, not what I had planned to be doing."

"Have you thought about going back now that they're older?"

She shakes her head. "No, not really."

"You should."

Serena stops walking and turns to me with a quizzical expression. "Huh?"

I face her fully. "Really, I think you should consider it."

She laughs and shakes her head. "If you think a single baby was hard, two preteens while working full time? There's no way," she trails off, as if she can't believe I'm suggesting it. But I can't help myself. I see the potential. How can I make her see it, too?

"That deposition you reviewed? I have Upton and his paralegal team on that. One of the best in the state. And yet, you caught something that thousands of dollars in billable hours completely overlooked."

"Yeah, but, that's something any paralegal could have found," she counters, although I can hear the consideration in her voice.

"But they didn't." I place my hands on her coat-covered shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. I want her to realize importance of her actions for the company.

The potential I can see that she has.

"You did."

Our eyes are locked on each others, a stare so intense I can feel my heart pounding through my fingertips. The wind picks up around us, fluttering her bangs in a gentle wave that manages to soften the already-angelic features of her impossibly perfect face. My hand twitches, wanting to feel the skin of her cheek against my hand, to touch her lips with mine, to kiss her breathless.

Which makes it so much harder to know that I can't. Shouldn't.

I force my hands off her shoulders and with every ounce of strength I have, will them into my coat's pockets. In there they have no chance of crossing the line, of making what would likely be a disaster of a situation. I slowly pace toward the office again, allowing her to fall into stride with me, and we take the next two blocks back in silence.

Once we reach the glass doors of the office complex, I pull out my keycard and unlock the lobby door, holding it open for her. She's immobile, standing in the darkness, her eyes downcast on the sidewalk.

Damn it, even when I make myself not cross a line, I still manage to cross a bloody line!

"You okay?" I am immediately stricken when those eyes I was captivated by moments ago now are now watery with tears. Tears that I caused.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Thank you," she whispers. The words send goosebumps down my arms, my heart to pound once again. "Thank you," she repeats louder. Before I have the chance to respond to her, Serena wraps her arms around me, and I'm knocked off my axis. The feel of her body so close to me is more potent than any whiskey, more exhilarating than any adrenaline rush I've ever experienced. Such a simple gesture, but to me, it was an earth-shattering moment of clarity.

I let go of the metal handle and wrapped my arms around her, returning the welcomed embrace. The crush of her soft form against mine felt so natural, so comforting, like coming home for the first time in years.

And as I continued to hold her, relishing every moment, I felt myself slipping further and further into this hole that I was certainly digging myself into.

I have officially have fallen for my assistant.


	12. Chapter 11

_Many of you have asked... and here it is! Chapter 11 is ready!_

 _Also, as a disclaimer and a friendly reminder, this story is rated M *coughFORESHADOWINGcough*_

 _A special thank you to Pia Bartolini for her superb editing skills! Between family commitments, power outages, and a broken leg, she STILL wanted to beta this and I am ever so thankful! Seriously, you rock!_

 _Please read and review! I am SO excited to hear your thoughts!_

* * *

"This sucks! I don't _want_ to go to Dad's! I have a test tomorrow, and I have to share a room with Alex, and there's not enough room in the bathroom, and, Mom, come on!"

I let out an exasperated, guilt-stricken sigh. "Elsie, baby, I have to go," I try to soothe as sympathetically as possible. Being the Senior Legal Assistant of the firm, one of the requirements of my job is to coordinate and attend the yearly Partner's retreat in Portland, Oregon. To the kids, my absence was pretty much a free for all; a junk-food fest with Dad, watching endless movies, staying up late, and the house looking like it exploded by the time I returned on Wednesday night. So, as much as I want to be annoyed by the sour attitudes they're giving me, I feel terrible. Not only am I leaving them for three days, I'm leaving them in a place that is not really _home_.

I tune out Elsie's complaints when the GPS indicates the next turn. This is the first time I am bringing the kids to Seiya. In fact, I feel pretty foolish that I've never actually checked out where he lives before now. When the navigation indicates another left turn, I notice the flags and wrought iron gates of an apartment complex welcoming me. My eyes scan the property, brick buildings stacked next to one another, separated by rectangular parking lots. It's exactly what you'd expect from a suburban apartment complex; simple. Plain. No frills.

Elsie points me to the correct lot, but slumps back in her seat as I pull into the parking spot. Who can blame her? She's going to have to deal with being here three school nights. Meaning, three nights with sharing the one bathroom, of waking up earlier so Dad can drive them to school, and, from what I've heard via her weekly complaints, tight quarters.

I cut the engine and pocket my keys before turning to my children. Alex, as usual, is distant, staring vacantly out the window. Elsie is still pouting, but slowly repacking her items.

"I'll pick you guys up on Wednesday night, okay?"

A chime of less-than-enthused yeah's fill the cabin.

I try for a reassuring smile, but it falls flat. Not bothering to look at me, both kids grab their bags and shuffle out of Dory. My smile drops as I wonder much longer they will keep acting like this?

Sighing, I open my door and follow them to Seiya's apartment so he and I can discuss the weekend. But each step flares my nerves. What is Seiya's place like? Is it a total bachelor pad? Or kid ready? Modern? Laid back?

A sour thought crosses my mind. One thing I know for sure is that it is completely devoid of me.

Alex knocks at the door hastily before pushing it open, dropping his bags in the process.

"Alex!" I call out to him, but it's no use. He's already zipped over to one of the two rooms down the hallway and slammed the door.

Seiya materializes as Elsie skulks into the area. "Hey, babygirl," he greets with a kiss on her forehead. She, in turn, briefly nudges her head against his shoulder before trudging into the living room, bag dragging behind her in great theatrics. I drop my shoulders, sadness overtaking me.

"It'll be okay," Seiya says reassuringly, but the kindness doesn't quite soothe my needs.

"Will it?" I snap. "Will it ever be 'okay'?" A few moments of silence linger between us before I shake my head. "Sorry, sorry," I apologize. "The ride over sucked."

Seiya shrugs his shoulders, as if it's no big deal. "No worries. So, you had a few things you wanted to talk about?"

I am thankful for his urge to get to the point and end this discomfort. Seiya motions for me to follow him to the small breakfast bar, allowing me to take in the sights of his apartment. The living room is sparsely decorated with a black leather couch, oversized chair, and television. I spot his guitar from yesteryears propped in the corner on a stand, like it was back in our house. A few framed photos of the kids are sprinkled throughout the area, but for the most part, it's spartan.

I force myself to stop scoping the area and turn to him. "Yeah. I just want to make sure you're all set with pick-up and drop-off. Tomorrow Elsie has dance, and Al—"

"Alex has soccer. Dance ends at 6:15, soccer ends at 6:30. Just because I left doesn't mean I stopped knowing my kids' schedules, Serena," Seiya grumbles as he shakes his head, like I'm being ridiculous. As much as I want to lambaste him for never, ever, eeeever being involved with shuttling the kids anywhere, I bite back the remarks.

"I'll be back Wednesday night, so if it's okay, I'll pick them up here around 7?"

Seiya nods. "That's fine."

"I'm staying at the RiverPlace in Portland. I'll be working most of the time, but my cell will be on in case of emergency," I advise him.

"I figured."

"So, with that, I guess I'll go now?" I venture, not really sure how I'm feeling about this whole situation. It's a little overwhelming. In fact, part of me wants to cancel, take my babies home, and force someone else to step in and coordinate this whole meeting in my place, never mind that it's my job. Then again, I also want to get away. It would be so nice to clear my head and focus only on work. And boy, oh boy, there is a ton of it to be done.

 _Suck it up, buttercup, and let's go._

I make the short walk back to the doorway. "Kids, I'm leaving," I call out to them, my heart drops when I hear nothing in response. Not a 'bye Mom,' or even a hug. Nothing. And it hurts. It hurts so much that I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to force back my emotions.

"Hey, wait," Seiya suddenly interjects as I grasp the doorknob. "Can I ask a favor?"

I drop my hand, irritated that he didn't bother to reprimand our children for their poor treatment of me, yet had the balls to ask for something else. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Can you keep the kids Friday night and I'll pick them up Saturday morning? I know it's my weekend and all, but with the extra days this week, I was hoping maybe you'd be okay with it?" he asks hesitantly, hands shoved deep in his pocket. I shrug in response; it's not like I have anything important going on.

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Thanks. I was offered a gig on Friday, but I didn't want to accept it unless you were okay with it," he hastily explains, like he needed to clarify it wasn't for ill intentions. I have to process the words for a moment, then can't help but ask.

"A gig? You started playing again?"

A bashful smile crinkles his face, one I haven't seen in ages but still clenches my heart. "Yeah, got the old group together. Not as wild as we used to be, but it feels good to be back."

"Wow. You know, I never thought you guys should have ended things in the first place," I shake my head in amazement, remembering my disappointment when Seiya announced that their group was taking a hiatus. Between our two kids, his bandmate Taiki getting married, and Yaten going off for his PhD, things got too chaotic for them to make time to practice, let alone play a show.

He shrugs again. "Yeah, well, we all were settling down. And now that things are a little," he pauses briefly, "less hectic? You know, no babies or stuff, we can jam every now and again."

 _No babies or … stuff. Aka, no wife to get in the way for you anymore_. My genuine smile becomes strained. "Good for you." Deciding now is the perfect time to leave, I quickly turn the doorknob and push myself out. "Tell them I said goodbye since, obviously, they're not coming."

"I will," he answers, and I leave it at that. The door shuts with finality in the damp Seattle evening, and finally the tears can fall.

The band – _his_ band – back together again, playing a show? So, he's not just moving on from me, he's moving on with his _life_ , picking up where things ended for him twelve years ago. Playing gigs in bars, singing into the microphone, plucking the strings of his guitar, being the rockstar that he always dreamt he would be.

I heave myself into Dory and drop my head against the steering wheel. Why does Seiya get to move on, but I'm stuck juggling work on top of being Elsie and Alex's emotional punching bag and taxi cab? Why does _he_ get to switch weekends and pretend to be 24 again? Why does _he_ get to pick my kids up with a fucking hickey on his neck? Why does _he_ get to pick up where he left off?

Don't I deserve to do that, too? Don't I deserve the luxury of enjoying my life, of picking up my scattered pieces and putting them back together again? Hell, _should_ I go back to school, like he's going back to music?

A blush suddenly creeps onto my cheeks as the tender moment from a week ago materializes in my mind: Darien's encouragement and confidence in my ability to go back and finish my law degree. I was so, so convinced all these years that I shouldn't. From spousal duties, to family responsibilities, to my job, I felt like it wasn't possible to achieve. But the look in his eyes, the way he held on to my shoulders, the certainty I could hear in his voice, he got me thinking. _Could I?_

After all, the kids are gone Tuesday and Thursday evenings. They're not home every other weekend. I could probably start small with some evening classes and do work on the weekends and my lunch breaks. And, now being a one-income taxpayer, I could probably get some financial aid, too.

So, what's stopping me? Clearly, Seiya has embraced moving on. He's finding a way to pursue his dream after life changed our plans. If he can find a new balance of family and personal goals, maybe I can, too.

#

The RiverPlace Hotel is easily one of the slickest venues I've ever seen. The waterfront location already gives it an unfair advantage, but I am a sucker for the modern décor. Everything about the hotel screams luxury. And as one who doesn't often indulge in lavish settings I take full advantage of my time here, _especially_ when it's on the company's dollar!

My enjoyment is well-earned, I do say; I come down a day early to review the meeting room set up, assure all AV equipment is in place and presentations are preloaded, and coordinate all the meetings from the 10am working-breakfast to the 8pm dinner and social hour. Social hour, naturally, turns into drinks. Drinks, of course, turns into a gaggle of drunks. And then at the morning meeting I'm the one with the bottle of aspirin, bagels, and coffee waiting for them before they split up into breakout sessions. Throw in a late afternoon of massages or a game of golf, the second night is a total blowout of a party. Dinner is usually top-notch, the alcohol is free flowing, and it gets crazy. So crazy that I've come home with dozens of stories of disbelief, horror, and hilarity.

Meanwhile, I am in the background making sure everything runs smoothly. And though exhaustion comes with my responsibilities, I also have the reward of delicious meals, cocktails, and my own massage. Not just any massage - it's a 60 minute, full body, aromatherapy massage. I intentionally schedule it during the second night of drinks because I know that no one will miss me. The next morning I wake up refreshed and can take my time getting ready, before cleaning up the remaining bits of paperwork and heading home. So, while it's a long stretch of time to be gone, it's a nice switch from my usual work.

I'm in the thick of my preparations, tucked away in the back corner of the RiverPlace's Pub with my books spread across the booth. In reviewing Dowers' breakout session and the requested number of tables and groups he needs, I am trying to mix up the partners effectively. I am midway through table three when a shadow obscures my lighting.

"Working hard or hardly working?"

My cheeks flush just from the rich tones of his voice. I look up into intoxicating eyes and smile.

"Well I _was_ working hard, but I believe you've effectively distracted me. What are you doing down here a day early?" I ask. Darien laughs before sitting down in the booth, eyeing my piles with curiosity.

"I didn't want to have to wake up early, so I thought I'd come down the night before. Is that John's breakout for tomorrow?" I nod in response, only to raise an eyebrow when Darien's face morphs into a grimace. "Oh, damn, please don't put me at table two. I can't stand Anne. Please," he pleads.

I giggle, but at the same time my heart is singing from his admission of his dislike. Anne has made it perfectly obvious that she is interested in him. With saucy outfits, manipulating the client lunch schedule, and pointlessly frequent visits to his office, her mission is clear as day. "Oh, really? I thought you two were the _best_ of _friends_ ," I tease, my giggle turning into a full-blown laugh as I watch his expression shift to displeasure.

"No, no, no, no," he insists as he shakes his head. He shifts closer to me as his eyes inspect my chart. "How about you put me..." he trails as he removes his named tab from table two, "here?" I mock-frown when I see that he puts himself at the AV table.

"Not gonna happen," I counter, reaching for his tab. In response, he quickly snatches the tag off of my paper and stretches away from my reach. "Hey, give that back!"

"Nope. Not until you say you'll move me far, far away from table two," he barters.

"Nope, I need a Senior Partner at each table. Now give me my tab back." I make a grab for it, but he continues to hold it further away from me. I reach again, grazing against his arm, but Darien only laughs and persists.

"Say you'll move me."

"Nope."

"Come on!"

"Nope."

"I'd work _much_ better at table four!"

"I already have Wilford at four," I defend as I strain my arm further. I nearly keel over when I feel my breast brush against him, all electricity and awareness, but he's being playful with me.

And, truth be told, I don't want to forfeit this little game we've started.

"Five?"

"Rainford."

"Three?"

"Hilsbach."

"So I really do have to stay at two?" he sighs dramatically, adopting a puppy dog look that nearly knocks me unconscious. I don't think I've ever seen a pout so erotic in my life.

"Okay, fiiiine," I concede, "I'll put you at four."

Victorious, he returns the pilfered tab. I snatch it and update my chart, the smirk never leaving my own face. "There! All set, you big baby," I reply as I close my book dramatically. "No more messing with my tables."

"Fair enough," he concedes with his hands up. "Done working for the night, then?"

I shake my head. "Nope, got a few more details to hammer out here," I reply as I reach for my second planning binder.

Darien grimaces. "Who's your boss? He must be such a jerk to give you this workload on a Sunday. I'd like to have a word with him!" he insists, playfully scoping out the patrons in the bar until I poke him in the arm.

"That'd be _you_ , big guy."

"Ah, yes," he replies. "Well, if you're going to be working on a Sunday night, at the very least you've earned a refreshed drink."

I nod my head in acceptance. "Now that I will certainly take you up on. Maker's Mark? Neat, please."

He gives a quick bow of his head before disappearing toward the bar, and the damage is done. I don't know how on earth I am going to focus on the rest of the work I need to complete. It has been like that the last few days; any time I am around him my heart races and fingers twitch in desperation to feel the firmness of his jaw, the silky warmth of his hair, to touch him anywhere – anywhere at all! It's gotten so bad that I keep _dreaming_ of the man! And in those dreams, he's kissing my neck, my shoulders, all over my body, and, ugh. I've got it _bad_.

I fidget with my pen and open one of my binders, desperately trying to will myself back into work mode and out of this self-induced state of desire. But once I get a whiff of his cologne, that delicious aroma of spice and cocoa, I am quick to lose interest. He shimmies into the booth once again, a little closer to me this time, and presents my drink.

"Thank you," I say as I tip my glass in appreciation. He smiles, clicking his own liquor with mine, and I sip at the delicious bourbon.

"Anytime," he replies, his voice thick like honey, and just as sweet. In an effort to try and drown out my body's response to his proximity, I take another slow, lengthy swallow, allowing the alcohol to settle my nerves.

"So, what do you have left to work on?" he asks, looking over the multiple binders spread out on the table.

I replace my drink and reach for my blue binder. "Well," I clear my throat, "this is the schedule for the extracurriculars." I shift forward to grasp the elusive book when I'm jolted by the feel of my thigh against his. As I settle back to my seat I am very, very aware of his proximity. "I need to finalize the last few Partner activities," I swallow thickly. He leans over, his bicep grazing my own, and studies the planner.

My heart is racing, practically to the point where my quickened breath has to be obvious. I smile and try to find something else to say, but I'm at a loss for words. All of my senses have been taken over by this fantastic specimen of man next to me, and I don't know what else to do.

Except reach for my drink and take another fortifying sip.

"I'm glad to see you put yourself on the list," Darien comments with a tap of his long, slender finger on the spreadsheet.

"Mmhmm," I squeak as I continue hiding behind my prop of a beverage.

"You're going pretty late though, aren't you? Isn't that during the dinner party?"

"Ah, yeah," I reply, the alcohol starting to kick in quickly, calming my nerves just enough that I think I can speak normally again. "I typically go when you guys are eating and networking."

Darien props his elbow on the table and rests his head against a closed fist. "You know," he begins, "If you are considering going back to school, I think it would be beneficial for you to come."

"Yeah, but, won't you guys mostly be talking about your casework and whatnot?" I counter, still finding my attendance pointless.

"But you're directly involved in it, are you not?"

"True," I amend, "but I'm involved on a whole separate level: the administrative level. Your discussions on CPE and specific facts are far superior to my deposition writing."

"I, for one, think your deposition writing is pretty damn good," Darien counters, "but I understand what you mean."

I smile. "Yeah, so, you can see why it's not really my place to attend," I add with a shrug.

"I guess, we can get pretty boring," he chuckles as he sips his own drink.

"I'll say," I taunt, only to giggle when he mock-scoffs at me.

"Are you confirming that I'm boring?" he places a hand on his chest, eyes on mine, as if daring me to answer him honestly. Unfortunately for me, the teasing response gets lodged in my throat, my smirk slowly dropping as his gaze holds my own.

"No," I utter breathily. The atmosphere around us transforms, no longer light and innocent, but tense. So, so tense.

"See, I think," Darien says in a softened tone that does nothing to slow my thundering pulse, "that if you were there, you'd make a boring conversation much more interesting."

My cheeks burn, the compliment swirling around my mind like frosting on a cupcake. "Oh?" I sputter.

A smooth, sexy smile weaves its way onto his face, and I'm pretty sure a feather could knock me down at this point. "Absolutely."

I bite on my bottom lip nervously but can't look away. What he's thinking right now, if his thoughts echo my own. How I long to move even closer, press forehead and lips and catalogue the planes of his face with my fingers? They itch to caress the soft hollow of his cheek, to weave through his hair as I taste him.

The butterfly-nerves in my stomach are almost too much as my self control stretches in the silence.

"I should go," I manage after what feels like eternity locked in his gaze. He blinks two, three times, and I feel heartened that it wasn't just me. "Early start tomorrow," I add as I gather my binders with nerveless fingers and Darien quickly slides out of the booth to allow me through.

"Thank you for the drink," I add, giving him what I hope is an easy smile before I back away and reluctantly pivot toward the door. Somehow, each step away heightens the tingling awareness that has settled in my bones. Fuck! That moment, that stupid moment, it was so damn intense that I might just… just… burst!

I rush to the elevator, pushing the call button erratically as I take a deep, steadying breath. My heart, however, will not stop pounding. I am completely worked up over here. All I want to do is get into my room, toss all my binders on the desk, and take a long shower with a side of self castigation for having these ridiculous feelings for Darien. _You can't have him, Serena. He's your boss. Your boss. Do you realize the implications of what could happen if you started something with him?_

The doors spring open and paneled metal walls beckon me. I quickly step in, grateful for the lack of a crowd in the elevator as I continue to try and calm my nerves. _Forget this moment ever happened, whatever it was back there. Swallow your feelings, move on, and get to work._ I let out a melancholy sigh. I should just go to sleep once I get back upstairs, because at least in my sleep, I don't have to feel guilty wanting him there.

But just as the door is about to close, a red binder materializes and springs the doors back open.

"You forgot your book."

My cheeks flush brightly as Darien steps in. "O-oh," I reply bashfully, reaching out for the forgotten planner. "Thank you." He nods his head before extending the binder to me, but it's no use. Between my flustered, aroused state from our staring contest in the booth and the fact that I am currently cradling four other binders, I fail to intercept. In fact, everything in my arms tumbles to the carpet just as the bell chimes our arrival at my destination.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, kneeling down to pick up my items. Thankfully, Darien puts his foot in the gap, keeping the elevator from sending us to another floor. I stand back up, binders askew, embarrassment warring with desire as Darien chuckles.

"Let me help you with those," he offers as he plucks two of the binders from my grasp.

I blush deeper as I mumble an embarrassed thank you, leading him down a few doors to my room. I fumble around to get the key out of my back pocket and tap it against the door, jimmying the handle with an elbow and bursting into the room. Miraculously, I manage to drop the binders on my desk, unscathed, before turning back to my amused boss.

"Thank you," I say as I approach him, "I appreciate the help. You didn't need to do that," I add with a grateful, hopefully-polite smile. Inside, though, I'm melting down, senses in overdrive as I stare at him once more. He returns my smile with that sweet, sexy twist of his lips that I can't get enough of.

"Anytime," he replies as he steps in a little bit closer. I reach for the binders but barely grasp them as our eyes lock again. My previous inner diatribe deserts me completely, and all I can do is tip my head toward those eyes. That mouth.

 _I want him. Screw the consequences._

He slowly bends towards me, head lowered, and like a magnet I feel myself moving in. I am wrapped up in his warm breath, smelling of vanilla and some wonderful unknown. A thrill shivers my skin before his lips—those full, sensuous lips— brush against mine.

The binders I was barely holding onto fall to the floor as his lips gently and insistently brand me, and for a fleeting moment everything else falls away. I savor his sweet, soft mouth caressing my own, and his fingers brush against my cheek. Not even my wildest dreams could create such a tender moment as this.

Darien pulls away from me slowly, but still too soon, and our eyes connect once more. The only sound I can hear is stuttering, unsteady breaths, and in his gaze I can see swirls of emotion that mirror my own. Hesitancy. Uncertainty.

Lust. Desire.

The next thing I know, he is consuming me, nearly knocking all wind from my lungs. His tongue begs entrance, gentle but demanding, and it's like nothing I've ever experienced. I moan into his mouth, the taste of whiskey exchanged in our commingled breaths. Instead of drifting away I anchor myself to him, rake fingers greedily through his hair, press my body against his frame. He cups the back of my neck, as if he can pull me any closer. It is magic, the way his lips burn into mine. His mouth is intoxicating.

We are kissing as if our lives depend on it. I have never wanted anyone like this before. Ever. I claw at his shirt, my hands desperate to sear his skin, to feel his chest pressed up against me. My knees start to buckle from the intensity of our embrace and I stumble back into the wall for support, all while fumbling with the hem of his shirt. In a bold move, I slide my hands underneath to feel his taut frame, and it's everything I had fantasized. Beneath my fingers his skin is silky heat. Hungry for more, I yank at the fabric barrier and pull it up hastily, but not before drinking in the sight. He looks like a movie star, from his well toned torso right down to his biceps.

I toss his shirt off to the side as Darien's hands settle at my hips. He slides the silky fabric of my top up my stomach tantalizingly slow, and I lean my head back into the wall. He leaves a path of goosebumps as his knuckles drag against my curves. His lips sweep against my collarbone, planting kisses along my neck, up to my ear, all while pulling the shirt up and finally over my head.

Darien's fingertips are electric; they must be, for wherever they touch my skin tingles in a frenzy of static. His hands map my arms, my shoulders, my abdomen, and back again. I am in a state of ecstasy. My soul is on fire with the slide of his fingers, and when he caresses my breast, I nearly come undone.

Somehow he moved us from the wall to the bed and we tumble onto it, the weight of his body on top of mine an extraordinary bliss. His face rubs mine with the bite of stubble but I don't care, I don't care at all. He feels magnificent. His hands are grazing my body, everywhere, and it doesn't matter that our mouths are already joined, I want him closer. I need him to be so much closer. A bolt of heat shoots through my core as the thought invades my mind.

This is not enough. I want so much more.

Our minds must be synchronized, because I feel Darien tugging at my jeans, trying to unbutton them as his lips sear my neck. Once the button gives way, he's crawling down my body, slipping my jeans down with him. I bend my knees back one by one as he frees my legs and tosses the pants aside. My hooded eyes lock on his hands as they work at his belt and jeans, shucking them to the floor with a gentle plop.

He hovers over me once more, fingers combing through my hair as our underwear is a final, insubstantial barrier. I feel him—all of him—pressed against me, and I inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, and that extra scent that's just… Darien. I want to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His hands trail down to my inner thighs, caressing them as he nips my earlobe. I gasp as his fingers slide underneath my panties and rub slickly, with purpose, against my sex.

The sheets twist in my grasp as my body sings and writhes. His fingers hook my panties and slip them down my thighs, the silky barrier finally gone. In response, I tug at the elastic of his boxer briefs with urgency.

His lips leave mine.

Darien slips away from me, towards the edge of the bed, and for a moment I start to panic with fleeting fear that he doesn't want this. But my worries subside when I hear him fumble with his jeans. Propped on an elbow I watch him pull his wallet out of his pocket and begin to tear at it, dollar bills and business cards fluttering out. A silver foil packet materializes, then a quiet ripping noise.

He's back in a moment, sliding his taut frame up the length of me, and for the first time since we've begun this insane whirlwind of intimacy, his gaze is asking a question. I shiver beneath him, my eyes drawn into his. He grazes his thumb over my cheek, and my heart sings at the tenderness. My fingers answer as they caress his stubble, before I pull him back down for another kiss. This kiss, though, feels different. It's one of hunger, yes, but as I run my fingers through his inky black locks, I want Darien to know that this is absolutely what I want.

I want him. All of him.

Now.

Once again, it's like he's reading my mind, because I feel him slide against my heat, making me pulse and ache in anticipation. We break our kiss and his forehead rests on mine as he slips inside of me in one smooth, slick motion. I nearly cry out from the intense pleasure overtaking my body. My hands scrape and clutch his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as I absorb the pleasure of each strong thrust.

He drops his head and groans into my neck, whispering my name over and over again. It doesn't take long. Between the grunts, the kisses, the nips, and the whispers of my name leaving his lips, I let out another deep, passion-filled moan as my body convulses. In an attempt to keep my cries of fulfillment from turning into a scream of passion, I slide my fingers against his face and pull him down for another kiss. I moan into his mouth as he continues to rock against my orgasm.

All pretenses have been abandoned. All hesitancies are gone.

As he rolls me above him and I grind down, watching with hooded eyes as his beautiful face twists with pleasure, I fall drunk with desire.

It's not a dream. It's not a fantasy.

This is real life.

And I am… _Free._


	13. Chapter 12

_Happy New Year, everyone!_

 _I am so thrilled at the response from the previous chapter! From the reviews, to the PMs, to the Tumblr messages, the amount of support you've given me is amazing! I am so sorry it took me as long as it did to post this chapter. Between my father-in-law passing away right before Christmas, the craziness of the holidays, and having an awful case of writer's block, it took me a little longer than I had hoped to get into the swing of things. However, thanks to some fabulous advice shared by my SUPER AMAZING BETA, I was finally able to unclog the block and get this thing going!_

 _Which brings me to my SUPERSIZED KUDOS to Pia Bartolini and the time she took out of her own busy life to help make really polish this chapter. Thank you so, so much! Your edits and epic comments really helped get this chapter ready. I am so, so thankful for your help!_

 _I hope all of you enjoy this chapter... Please let me know what you think!_

* * *

The brim of the ceramic mug reaches my lips once more. I quietly sip the weak tea I attempted to make in the dark, but the taste of the drink is the last thing on my mind.

Currently, I am seated on the arm of the oversized chair in the corner of the hotel room, my eyes trained on my bed. Correction: who is currently sleeping _in_ my bed. As I take in the sight of his torso and how enticing his facial features are as he sleeps, I can't help but feel my anxiety rise with the sun.

What the hell happens now? Now that I've slept with my boss… I mean, Darien, last night.

I mean, for starters, he _is_ my boss. My _boss._ Not some colleague, or someone I met in a bar last night, but the person that I report to each and every day. The person who determines whether or not I remain employed at the company. Who decides my salary. All important things I apparently didn't bother to take into consideration the moment we kissed.

Second, that kiss. Holy _fuck_ , that kiss. And not just that, but his hands, his fingers, his mouth, his … I clear my throat surreptitiously to calm myself. I don't know what he would rate last night's performance, but, hot damn, I can't remember my toes ever curling like that. And then I passed out in exhaustion shortly thereafter, completely drained from the raw, sexual intensity of last night. Satisfied in every sense of the word.

Which leads me to my next thought. What does this mean for… uh, us? I mean, is there even an us? Was this a one time thing? A weekend thing? Do we start seeing each other, do we casually sleep together, or pretend nothing ever happened and move on with our lives?

Could I even _do_ that?

I bite down on my lower lip. I don't think I could pretend that never happened, but I also don't know if I could be in a relationship. Not yet, not right now.

I tip my head back and silently groan. _You_ _'_ _ve put yourself in a real good situation here, dumbass,_ I chastise myself. Professional boundaries are long gone, all because I left my stupid binder behind last night. And like a damn gentlemen, Darien returned it to me. Helped me bring them to my room when I struggled to balance them. Looked so damn attractive in his jeans that a Calvin Klein model is below his league. And that shirt. How it hugged his muscles as my hands explored. So defined, so firm, so… so…

Shit.

There's no denying I wanted him. Bad. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want him, still.

But, I'm not in college anymore. I'm a thirty four year old divorcee with kids.

Everything I do has a repercussion. Every choice I make, carefree or painstakingly picked apart, will somehow trickle into my life. And boy, oh boy, will this decision make an impact on my livelihood. I'd be an idiot to think it wouldn't.

But the question is: do I regret it?

"Hey."

Darien's voice, deep with sleep and oh-so-sexy, startles me to the point that I nearly fall off my chair. Thanks to the faint glow of the sun peeking through the sides of the curtains, I am gifted the sight of watching the comforter tumble to his waist as he sits.

"Hey," I answer softly, my train of thought interrupted. He digs the heel of his hand into his eyes as the silence hangs between us, and awkwardness washes over me. After all, I've never had a one night stand before, let alone someone wake up in my bed the next morning. What the hell are you supposed to say in a situation like this?

"Sorry, I, um, didn't mean to stay here all night."

 _That works._ "No worries, it's okay," I dismiss with the realization that waking up to him isn't a bad thing. Although, with how awkward this whole morning after thing is, also can see the appeal of a nighttime exit.

He lets out a sigh, although I can't tell if it's contented or concerned. Part of me wants to decipher it and get his opinion on what happened between us. But, another part of me realizes it's only 5:50, and conversations don't happen at 5:50. At least, not conversations that heavy. A more appropriate conversation would be asking someone if they'd like –

"Coffee?"

At this point, I'm really wishing there was a light on. In the dim I can't see clearly enough what Darien may be thinking. Right now, the silence between us is filling my mind with every worst-case scenario. At least if I could see his face, I'd be able to see an element of some emotion. Surprise? Taken aback? Dread? Worry?

"Uh, yeah, sure," he hesitantly responds, and I can hear his uncertainly clear as day. _Yup, he definitely wants to get the hell out of here. Regrets it already. Shit. Shit shit shit shit._

"Unless, you have to go now, then, uh, no worries," I rambled. _I can'_ _t believe I screwed up already. He obviously wants to get the hell away from me as soon as he–_

"No, no," Darien quickly replies, ceasing my internal berating. "Coffee would be nice," he adds in a softer voice, effectively calming my worry.

"Okay." _Okay. This is good. Maybe…_ _maybe he really wants to stay?_ I feel my cheeks burning something fierce as angst turns to elation; _he wants to stay! He wants to stay!_ I hoist myself up and towards the direction of the lamp but immediately stub my toe on the leg of the desk.

"Ah, crap!" I wince in pain before falling over into the bed, my throbbing pinky-toe and gracious tumble now making this whole endeavor even _more_ awkward. _Way to have a klutz-attack, meatball brains!_ I lift my leg up and quickly grab the tender spot with a wince. I hear the rustle of bedsheets. The pounding in my foot subsides as the pounding in my chest increases tenfold at Darien's glide across the mattress.

"Are you okay?" And at this point I don't know if I want to laugh or cry. He hesitated at staying for fucking _coffee_ , now I have to go and act all dumb-blonde on him? Ugh! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Yeah," I give a pathetic chuckle, "I just, um, stubbed my toe."

Darien lets out a whistle, and now I am ever more thankful the lights are off so he can't see my tomato-red face. "Ouch," he says softly. "Which leg?"

"My right," I sigh as I continue to knead the spot, my shoulders slumped in defeat. _Figures this would happen to me. Just when I think that maybe, just may-_

My thoughts cease, a shockwave ripples through my system the moment I feel his fingers brush against my foot. Gently, he cups it, and I allow my leg to be guided towards him. His fingers begins to gently massage my toes, each stroke sending both a calming, yet erotic feeling with each motion he provides. I drop my head to my knee, the heat in my cheeks rising from both contentment and embarrassment. After a few moments go by, I pick my head up and place my chin against my knee, leaning into my thigh. I feel my heart pound when he lets out another deep chuckle, accompanying a smile. "How's that feel?"

"Better," I murmur into my leg. "I'm such a klutz."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay, yes you are," he ribs, and I favor him with an incredulous look. "I mean, you did run into me that one day, after all,"

"Hey, no I didn't! You ran in to me!"

"Nope."

"Yep! You were on your phone when you did it!"

"Was I?"

I poke him in the shoulder. "Yeah, you were," I confirm. "And you ripped my pants!"

Darien tips his head back and lets out a laugh so rich that I can't help but laugh along with him. The earlier tension seems to fade away, and suddenly we're in this little, rosy bubble. As our laughter subsides, so do his massaging fingers. Instead, they've found their way to the base of my ankle, his thumb stroking against my bare skin.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice lower in tone, shooting straight through my core.

"Around 6," I respond, my eyes never leaving his. His fingers begin to travel up my leg tantalizingly slow, gliding against my skin. Every inch he moves up my leg I feel my breath quickening, my leg lowering in his direction. His fingers skim my calf, to my knee, traveling higher. I feel his weight shift against the mattress, and as he closes the already small gap between us, my hand skims his bicep and shoulder, raking my fingers at the nape of his neck as he places a tentative, soft kiss against my lips. One kiss turns to two, three before he pulls me into his lap, and I savor the feel of his lips against mine as his hands grip at my waist.

"If you want me to stop," he whispers against my mouth, "tell me now." When I don't respond, he places a chaste kiss on my neck. "Or now," he adds as his hands slip up the back of my shirt to graze the hollow of my back. Whimpering, I feel his lips press against my collarbone, exposed by the oversized t-shirt I threw on not too long ago. "Or—"

"Don't stop," I whisper. Head tipped back and eyes closed, I relish the sensation of his lips pressed against my neck, his fingers running against my curves, the awareness of how hard he's growing. The sheet is our only barrier, and the moment he lays me back on the bed, it is long forgotten.

#

"Not only will we look at our strategic plan, but I am going to challenge you to think of how you are living out this plan. What are you doing to remain inspired by our company's vision? How are you using our cornerstones in your work, or with your clients, or in your sales? Why do you continue to-"

My hand smothers a yawn as Ed Wilford continues his introductory rambling. Unfortunately, with the retirement of Damien, Ed stepped in as the keynote speaker. It's sensible, as he's the 'W' in 'W&S', but the man is a damned bore! It's not like what he is saying really contrasts with what Damien would have said, either. These retreats always serve the same purpose: discuss the history and the trends in the sector. Gather input from partners. Discuss how to attract a different client profile. Explore what improvements could be made. Yadda yadda yadda.

A facilitator from Chicago is usually flown in to help keep it structured, hot topics and healthy dialogue are often presented, but once you've been to one and you're not directly involved, they tend to get redundant. After all, what say do I have in trying to revise the firm's mission?

I quietly hunt for my steno notepad and pen inside my bag. A long list of to-do's immediately greet me, my eyes absorbing what feels like endless items I need to address throughout today's meeting. I scratch off a few tasks right away with a dash of my pen, finding a brief flicker of satisfaction that I've already handled a couple of items. Once Wilford decides to wrap up the introduction, the group will immediately move on to discussing how the firm performed this year. Again, nothing that is of too much interest to me, aside from the size of the deposit into the bonus pool.

I look up from the paper to the front of the room, desperately fighting the desire to spy on table four. To spot the sight of midnight black hair and reminisce in how soft it felt as I ran my fingers through it _again_. But for the sake of decorum, I force my eyes to stay trained on Ed.

"Also, we have a real treat for you," Ed announces to the group. "We have Ken Listenbee, a published author and top-notch life skills coach, coming in to work with us tomorrow. He will provide us with–"

 _Yawn._

I cross my legs at my ankles, a slight twinge between my thighs bringing me back to the events that unfolded this morning. I look down bashfully at my notepad as the highlight reel streams through my consciousness: the way that Darien's silhouette looked in the dim light of the sunrise peeking through the window, the way he touched me all over, how he responded when I reciprocated. It's crazy to think that six hours ago I assumed he would think this was all a mistake; instead, we've had a repeat of last night's events. I don't know what's happening between us, but whatever it is, it's more than just a two-time fling. However, that's a conversation for another day.

The applause of the group brings me out of my thoughts and I clear my throat quietly to regain my composure. I definitely should not be thinking of hot sex with Darien when he's sitting not ten feet away from me. Of course, just as I think of him, my eyes dart towards his table. At the round table set for eight, he's seated on the left side, allowing me a perfect side profile of his features. _Welp, might as well check him out while I'm here_. Must that man look so damn fine? Seriously, he has to get his clothing custom tailored. The way his charcoal dress pants rest on his hips and hug his butt? Not to mention the way that dress shirt clings to his muscles? I groan inwardly; this is going to be a long day.

Ed swaps spots with the CFO, Carl Guy, and he launched into the firm's financials. I pay attention for a moment, mainly making sure that his presentation loaded properly and that the clicker is operating correctly, before zoning back out. Now that I've gone and worked myself up by staring at Darien's delectable derriere during the applause, I can't focus on anything else. I rest my chin against my palm, eyes traveling along the room to survey the attention span of everyone else. Every so often I glance at the PowerPoint slides, but when Carl begins discussing budget allocation and chargeable hours, I turn to the room again.

I sweep my gaze to each of the tables, noting how they're all paying attention, until I reach table four. Darien's arm is propped on the table, his chin is resting against his fist. My eyes trace down his bicep, around his elbow, and up his forearm. I take note of the finest sprinkling of dark arm hair, finding allure in the sight of it. Blinking a few times to bring myself out of my stupor over such a small detail I continue my mapping, only to freeze when I catch his mischievous smile tipped my direction.

 _Girl, you busted._

I immediately snap my eyes down to my paper, ears pounding so loudly that I can't hear the presentation. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! You had to go and look at him. Had to check him out._ Of course, as I stare helplessly at my stupid to-do list, I can feel his eyes on me, taunting me to look up at him. Hesitantly, I flick my eyes back up in his general direction to confirm it. My lips press down into a tight-lipped smile, desperately trying to push down any and all desire to look back up again, and yet, I _like_ that he's looking at me. I raise my eyes up once more toward him, allowing our gazes to lock with a smile. In return, he tosses me a wink before turning his attention back on the CFO, leaving me completely and totally flustered. _Damn him!_

Thankfully, I am brought out of my current state when the group applauds once more, signaling the end of Carl's presentation. I take a look at my watch, eyes wide; _lunch already? How long was I spacing out for?!_ The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor fills the room along with the chatter of the Partners, various discussions of this and that going on.

I casually glance towards Darien's direction again and immediately notice that Anne has taken to walking alongside him toward lunch. Of course she's clothed in a khaki-colored pencil skirt and slim-fitted, white button-up top, dressed every bit polished and professional as she aims to be. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a tidy bun, her bangs falling around her forehead delicately. Ugh, must she be so damn attractive?! And, of course, she has her eyes set on the hottest guy around. I internally growl.

 _Back off, bitch._

The room continues to clear, everyone heading into the adjacent room to have lunch before we dive into the nitty-gritty of the meeting. Typically I forgo eating lunch with everyone and get my plate once they begin Session Two, but my curiosity is piqued. What harm would it do if I checked to see whether Anne was trying to sit next to Darien. I chuckle; not like it would matter. He's already informed me he can't stand her.

But, it wouldn't hurt to look… would it?

After hemming and hawing over it for a few minutes, I finally bite the bullet and head toward the lunch room. The clattering of silverware and conversation is prevalent, everyone laughing and gossiping away about the happenings in their lives. Honestly, I find it a nice reprieve from our tedious work days for all of us to get together under one roof and unwind like this. It's a different way of thinking; not torts or bylaws or case studies, but collaborating together. Working alongside each other towards a common, business-approached goal.

I walk up to the buffet table and pick up a china plate. As I dig the tongs into the salad, my eyes flutter up and out to the crowd. Just as I suspected, Anne is right next to Darien. Her body is tilted toward him, her head tipped back and laughing. I feel a minuscule swirl of irritation, but swallow it back down. I know she's nothing to him, just vying for his attention. But when her hand reaches up to touch his bicep, I find myself squeezing the tongs hard enough that spring mix suddenly flies into the air like confetti.

 _Get a grip, girl! Get your food and get the hell out of here before anyone notices you're causing a mess!_

I shimmy on down the table, quickly scooping some vegetables sides on to my plate and high tail it from the line. Thankfully, I don't think anyone noticed.

"Throwing salad around, are we?"

Or not.

"Eh, not on purpose?" I stammer awkwardly. "The tongs got the best of me."

Darien chuckles beside me as I reach for my silverware. "Do you have the time to help me with something?" he asks, "Shouldn't take more than two or three minutes."

I nod my head in compliance. "Of course."

"Okay, perfect. Um, when you're done?" he suggests as motions towards my lunch.

I shake my head in dismissal. "It can wait. Let me put it down in the other room," I say as I make my exit, him following behind me. For a moment, I am amused at how quickly I changed back into my professional self. I also take in how he addressed me; would anyone be able to tell there was something between us? Truthfully, I think that sounded pretty normal. As we cross the hallway to the meeting room, he holds the door open for me, which allows me to quickly drop my plate off at the table.

"So, what's up?" I ask as I reach for my pen and pad.

"It's down by the podium," he replies as he ushers me toward the front of the room. I follow him immediately, recalling he has a presentation of his own later today. My eyes widen; did we not do something? Oh boy. All the handouts are printed out already. What if something needs to be changed? Or what if something isn't loading correctly? Worry begins to crease my brow once we reach the front of the room.

"Over here," he instructs as he leads me to the control panels on the side of the wall. I raise my eye in curiosity. I don't really know the AV well. _Lunch is only about 15 minutes in; I'm sure I can get the AV guy down here once Darien explains what the problem might be._

"Um," I stammer, "I don't really know much abou–"

My voice catches in my throat the moment I feel him pulling me in. In an instant his is mouth crushed against mine, and I welcome the surprise as I rest my hands against his chest, taking in the feel of the exquisite fabric. His hands rake through my hair, and I let out a small groan of appreciation.

The moment is painfully brief. As we separate, I wipe my thumb across my bottom lip to remove any evidence he kissed me. The tingle, however, remains.

"Um, yeah, uh, glad I could help you with that," I sputter as I regain my composure.

Darien nods, and his playful smile is infectious. "Yeah, I definitely had to have that taken care of before the afternoon sessions."

"Ah, yes, for sure," I grin.

"I'll leave you to your lunch," he says as he touches the side of my arm. I nod, knowing he needs to get back, only to be knocked off kilter when he turns back around and gives one last dazzling, heartwarming kiss that sends rockets shooting off into the sky and fireworks exploding all around me. He winks as he makes his exit, and I can't help but smirk.

 _Eat your heart out, Anne._

#

"I love you, too, baby. Goodnight," I reply to Elsie with a smile as I disconnect the call.

The smile, however, quickly drops when my phone returns to my lock screen, the clock mocking me. 10:30 at night and I'm still crunching away at here in the meeting room. It would figure that the facilitator would bring his Macbook. And, it would also figure, that he did not bring his Mac-to-Windows adapter. And of course, his presentation would NOT configure with my computer.

It's 2019! Isn't everything supposed to be, you know, seamless nowadays? Interchangeable, even?

I run my fingers through my bangs in frustration. I managed to get the presentation transferred over into PowerPoint 365, but of course there were glitches. Four hours later, there were still freaking glitches. Honestly, who needs that many transitions and animations in their slide deck? Yeah, the word "procrastinate" might have a bomb land on it and explode the word, but if you want to use that stupid animation PLEASE remember to bring your damn adapter!

I rub at my tired eyes, desperately wishing I could retreat to my bed and hide under the covers. I've determined that I have to be awake by 6:00 tomorrow to set up the tables and pass out the packages. But it's already almost 11 pm. With this stupid conversion fail monopolizing the evening my patience is thin. And, if this transfer isn't done correctly, it's going to come back on me. After all, I didn't think to bring an adapter, either. Had I been, you know, one step ahead of the game, none of this would freaking matter. Add in the fact that this guy is charging us five grand to be here, it needs to be right. It _needs_ to be.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. _Nothing is going to get done if I sit here and stew over it_ , I lament. I take in a deep, calming breath, followed by a slow exhale. Before I open my eyes, however, I hear a clanking noise on my desk. I open my eyes to reveal a short glass of amber liquid, and I don't think I've ever been so grateful for hard liquor in my life.

"You look like you could use this."

I nod my head enthusiastically as I let out a sequence of stressed out breaths, almost like a silent snicker. "You have no idea," I intone, reaching for the glass eagerly. The liquor touches my lips, sweet apple and caramel notes filling my nostrils, as I take a sip of the quality whiskey. "Oh, ohhhh," I moan into the glass as I savor the drink. "This is good."

Darien occupies the empty seat next to me, a grin splashed across his face. "Tullamore," he replies. "Irish whiskey."

"Mmmm," I hum with appreciation, allowing a second taste of the drink. "Thank you," I add, tossing Darien a smile. "Very sweet of you."

"Anytime," he adds. "So, what's keeping you in here all evening?" he inquires as he looks at the two laptops. I respond with a dejected sigh.

"The facilitator for tomorrow's meetings created all of his material on his Mac. Which would be fine, except that he didn't bring his adapter. So, I've been trying to transfer all of his work onto our laptop, but it's not going as smoothly as I had hoped," I explain.

"We don't have an adapter?" he inquires.

I shake my head. "No, unfortunately. Now I know for next year," I add, blowing a frustrated breath into my bangs. _I'll never not bring one ever again._

Darien purses his lips in thought. "How much do you have left to do?"

"Thankfully, not much more. Really all that's left is adding in the last of his animations and slide transitions to his slide deck. I've been going slide by slide on each computer to compare and contrast the animations and make sure they're correct."

Darien winces. "That sounds terrible."

I laugh wryly. "It really is. I probably have another hour left and then I should be good."

"Here," Darien says as he reaches for the keys on the Mac. "You work ours, I'll work his."

My eyes widen as I shake my head. "No, no; you don't have to help, you go enjoy yourself out there," I insist, surprised and touched that he offered to help me.

"Please, I insist," Darien urges. When I don't respond, he flashes me an encouraging smile. "Trust me, there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

I feel my cheeks tint as I return a bashful smile. _This man, this beautiful, wonderful man!_ _My goodness!_ I sing inwardly. Yet, as much as I would like to continue to grin goofily at him, I know that if I don't keep working, I'll never get out of here. _Although, being in here with him all night might not be so bad._

I really need to cease my sex-occupied thoughts. Now.

"So," I finally sputter, "I'm on slide 40."

"40?" Darien confirms. I nod. "Geez, how long is this thing?"

"62 slides."

"Ugh," he groans. "Long day tomorrow," he laments as he keys through the slides. "Ok, I'm here. Now what?"

"Ok, press this button," I instruct him as I lean towards him, taking a split-second to inhale that delicious scent of his that I've become accustomed to. And just like that, I'm thinking about how fucking good he smelled this morning, my head buried in the crook of his neck, my arm draped around him while my other gripped the sheets so tightly they popped off the mattress.

 _Down, girl._

"Here," I finally squeak out. He complies, and the slide fills the screen, animations and all.

"What the fuck?" he mutters as words suddenly twist and turn onto the screen, his eyes narrowed with one eyebrow raised. The look of distain on his face is too much, and I lose it.

"Yup!" I say between giggles. "Ridiculous, right?"

"This is insane!"

"Yup!"

"Like, a high school kid could do better than this!"

"Yup!" I repeat, still laughing helplessly.

"Geez, no wonder you've been in here all night! Is that… did that just, did the next screen come on in the shape of a star?"

"Wait, what?" I stop laughing and scoot in closer to him. He hits the back button, and sure enough, the current screen disappears and the next screen tumbles on, star shaped and everything.

My jaw drops, and for a moment we're just staring at the screen in disbelief. The next, we're both laughing loudly, shaking our heads and relentlessly mocking the hot mess slide effects that everyone is going to have to take seriously tomorrow morning.

Sure, it took two hours longer than I thought. Darien retrieved us one more round of drinks, and despite the laughter and poking fun at the presentation, we completed the transfer. We even managed a few trial runs to make sure the animations ran correctly, and when all projected onto the big screen in the front of the room without issue, Darien and I high freakin' fived.

"Thank you. Seriously, you saved me hours of work," I enthused, laying my cheek against a propped up fist. He returns the gratitude with one of his dazzling, earth-shattering smiles.

"Anytime," he responds. "Glad I could be of some help."

I nod my head lazily. "You were."

"Good."

"Mmhmm."

A comfortable silence settles between us. I study his face, locked in his deep eyes framed with heavy lashes. I took note of his once styled black strands, now flopping over his face as the evening marched on. I trace his blade nose and strong cheekbones, down to his jaw and up to his lips. He was perfect, by every definition of the word; handsome, charming, sensitive, hardworking. As much as I want to reach out and touch him, to run my fingertips over his jawline and press my mouth against his, I know that I shouldn't.

After all, anyone really could walk in if they wanted to.

"I should probably go to bed," I finally say, but my voice is strained. I don't really _want_ to go to bed. At least, not to sleep.

"Yeah, we've got a long day tomorrow, don't we?" he agrees, even though he's unmoving. I nod slowly and shift my weight up out of the chair and on to my feet, saddened somehow that this time spent together is ending, even though it was work that kept us here. My sadness only intensifies as he follows suit, the two of us taking a slow walk to the back of the meeting room and toward the exit. I peek up as discretely as I can to marvel in his generous height, how he carries himself. Those shoulders, shoulders I've run my fingers against, are so broad, and those muscles, those impressive muscles, fill the sleeves of the sky blue fabric to the point that it almost appears painted on.

Once we reach the door, I grip the metal handle and begin to push it down, only to stop the moment I feel his hands land on my hips. I tip my head back slightly as I feel him take one step closer to me. His warm breath tickles my ear, eliciting a shiver that courses through my body. I drop my arm to the side, allowing the handle to spring free, and he whirls me around, my back pressing against the doorway as he kisses me. My hands immediately fly up to his face, fingertips tracing his contours of his face. I continue my trail and weave a path into his hair while I simultaneously press in closer to him, as if I need him closer. Like he is my air supply.

A passing cluster of voices behind the doorway eventually separates us, but does nothing to calm the burning desire I have for him. I struggle to catch my breath as I stare at him, watching as he runs his fingers through his bangs in his own attempt to calm himself down.

"I, uh," he pants, "probably shouldn't do that again. In here," he quickly adds. I let out a breathless chuckle.

"Yeah, uh, probably," I agree. "In fact, I should probably get up to bed."

Darien places his hands in his pants pockets as nods his head in agreement. "Yeah, I should get some sleep, too."

Decision affirmed, I pull at the door handle and yank the door open, leading us to a nearly empty lobby. Two employees behind the front desk are typing away at their computers, but I see no one from our firm in sight. Either they've all retreated to their rooms, or they're still at the bar. My bet is on the latter.

We make our way to the elevator in silence, pressing our own floors once we step inside. A comfortable, mutual silence lingers between us, drastically different from how I felt this morning. We smile at one another as the elevator comes to a stop, the bell dinging once it reaches my floor. However, before the door springs open, he leans in from behind.

"Dream of me," he says in a low, husky voice, and I feel my core reignite once more. I gasp, both in surprise and arousal, before turning my head to return a coy look as I step out into the hallway.

"I will," I respond, my insides turning to goo as I watch him fold his arms together while wearing a seductive smile. In a moment of boldness, as the doors begin to slide close, I toss him a wink for good measure, and am rewarded by the gleam of his teeth as his smile widens.

I turn away from the elevator and shake my head, completely mindblown by the events that have occurred in the last 24 hours. I've had sex. I've had sex with Darien. Twice. I caught him looking at me. He caught me looking at him. He flirted with me at lunch. Helped me out when I was stuck working late. Kissed me breathless in the conference room. So much in such a short amount of time that I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster, my adrenaline pumping nonstop, my heart beating rapidly.

When I reach my room, I tap the keycard against the door and let myself in, slightly bummed when I hear the door close with a soft 'click' and I'm alone. But it doesn't last. Even though went our separate ways to get some sleep tonight, somehow, someway, I feel even closer to him.

And despite crawling into bed by myself, completely and utterly exhausted, I don't feel so alone.

In fact, I feel like I am laying on cloud nine.


	14. Chapter 13

_Happy March, everybody! Only 18 more days until spring! :D_

 _Sorry for such a long delay between these two chapters. Unfortunately, I just entered my busiest time of the year at work, so my days have been stretched thin. That being said, I did not want to leave this story hanging for months on end, so I chipped away at this chapter, which ultimately led me to 7,100 words! Miracles do happen XD Hopefully that makes up for the delay?_

 _Also, a special thank you to the fabuuuuulous beta and friend, Pia Bartolini. Her amazing edits AND her suggestion for me to expand more on one of the sections below really helped this chapter come alive. And so, I made sure to fulfill the request she's been asking for. Tee hee. Hehehehehe._

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

5:00 comes way too quickly.

The alarm on my phone pulses throughout the room, bringing me out of my coma-like state. I fumble my fingers against the touchscreen, tapping erratically to silence the dreadful noise. Silence fills the room once more, and while I am tempted to give myself a well-deserved nine more minutes of snoozing, I know that I need to get downstairs within the next hour if I'm going to have that room ready for today's meeting.

I let out a grunt as I kick off the covers, skin cooling as it is freed from the confines of the comforter. I extend my arms out wide, taking a deep stretch to wake my body further, before swinging my legs around the edge of the mattress. I trudge to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, routinely feeling the temperature of the water before turning on the showerhead. When steam begins to fill the room I finally begin to wake up.

Nothing beats a nice, hot shower in the morning. Well, except for a cup of coffee.

I shuffle back into the bedroom and flip on the desk lamp. I mindlessly prep the coffee maker with the complimentary coffee kit that came with the room. With a quick switch of the 'on' button, the scent of liquid caffeine fills the room.

I exhale a satisfied sigh; if you think a hot shower is nice, try having your coffee _in_ the shower. It's the ultimate wakeup call.

Coffee in hand I return to the bathroom, placing the ceramic on the edge of the tub as I shuck off my pajamas and slip into the steamy haven I've created. I tip my head back under the spray and compare my own fingers running over my scalp to the memory of Darien doing just that yesterday morning. The thought has me biting my lip with a the twinge of desire. A man's fingers raking through my hair has always been a turn-on for me.

Shaking free from the recollections, I pour shampoo into my hands and begin to vigorously rub at my scalp, dribbles of soap sliding down my body as a result. The sensation from the suds immediately reminds me of Darien's fingers, how they explored my bare skin, fingertips grazing against the most intimate of spots. How he burned trails across me with the heat of his hand.

 _Whoa. Calm down, girl._

I squeeze my eyes shut and duck back under the shower head, washing the soap from myself in haste. Now is _not_ the time to be working myself up in the shower. Before thinking another sexually provoking thought, I pool conditioner into my hands and finger-comb it through my hair. I reach for my cup of coffee as I allow the hot water to blast me in a final rinse and take in a lengthy sip.

After a couple more swallows I make my way out of the tub, towel off, and immediately reach for my brush and the hair dryer. Once my hair is partially dried, I turn my attention to putting on my routine makeup: foundation and a light sweep of neutral colored eyeshadow. I dab the creamy foundation on my face and begin to work in soft, circular motions to blend the tone into my skin. Once the task is complete, I reach for my eyeshadow palette and work the beige colored powder across my lids before mechanically scrutinizing my appearance. I mean, it's nothing special. Simplistic, in fact. Not head-turning or worth complimenting.

 _But you want his head to turn._

I frown. Yeah, this look is good for the everyday rush when I'm shuffling two kids out the door. But, I'm not at my house.

It feels oddly liberating to tap my brush against the mocha-colored eyeshadow, and even more exciting as I dab at the corner of my eye. I gently blend the deeper color into the crease of my eyelid, giving additional depth to my features. I finish it off with a thin line of a similar-colored eyeliner.

This time, when I look back up into the mirror, I don't feel as ordinary as I usually do. My makeup is still on the neutral side, but there's definitely more allure. I grin wide; it feels good to do a little extra every now and again.

I redirect my thoughts and self out of the bathroom and into the closet, selecting a crimson flutter-sleeved blouse and a skirt that falls just above my knees. One hair clip, a final fluff, and a tease of my bangs later, I nod at myself in the mirror, pleased with the polished look I've managed to assemble before 6am. I slide my hands down my curves and over my abdomen, twisting my body gently as I look over my profile. _This looks okay, right? Will Darien like how I look in this? Or is it too plain? Should I wear a dress instead? I did bring that new one with the black and turquoise. I was thinking of maybe wearing it to that dinner. Ugh, should I even go to that dinner? I mean, I know he encouraged it, but I don't know. I don't think it makes sense. No one will talk to me and I'll just be standing there all stupid. Ok, that's decided. I'm going to not go to that dinner. Besides, I have my massage. I'd much rather have that. Too bad Darien can't be my masseuse. Now that could be fun._

My giggle jerks me back as my eyes land on 6:10 with a wince. Where the hell did the time go? Wasn't it just 5:15 when I hopped in the shower? I mean, I wasn't in there that long, was I? Or did I spend too much time getting ready? Shit, did I even finish my coffee? Or was that left abandoned in the bathroom?

 _Stop daydreaming about Darien, dumbass, and get to work._

Ugh.

#

The atrium is filled with soft chatter to match the early hour. About 80% of the partners have already arrived and are working through their breakfast as they talk about this and that. I take note of the few faces I have not seen yet, including a certain senior partner I can't stop thinking about. I check at my watch, noting there's about 15 more minutes until today's session begins. Rather than fret, I turn my attention to the breakfast spread, rearranging the pastries and bagels as neatly as possible to cover up any sparse areas.

"So, what's on the menu for today?" My heart pounds from the timbre of his voice. I feel my cheeks tinting, the proximity of him immediately reminding me of the heady thoughts I had this morning.

"Oh, you know, some pastries and fruit," I respond lightly, hoping that I don't sound every bit as flustered as I feel. "Bagels, coffee," I list, doing my best to act as nonchalant as possible. Unfortunately, I can't stop my eyes from widening as I feel him shift closer to me. I suck in a sharp breath as his arm brushes against mine and he leans in for what appears to be a cinnamon-raisin bagel. Shit, why is the simple task of him grabbing a bagel unraveling me? We both straighten in unison, and I can't help but watch as he brings it to his mouth, a mischievous smile peeking out from the breakfast treat.

 _Lucky ring of carbs._

He takes a sizable bite, and I'm surprised to find myself flustered and fuss over a Danish. He looks so playful, so boyish, so, so…

"So, what is on the agenda today?" he asks. Thankful for the redirection, I nod my head and begin cataloging the day's events.

"You mean besides the presentation of doom?" I giggle while I recall the reactions we shared the night before. "Once the speaker wraps up, you go into your breakout sessions. I have you signed up at Surety Bonds for Session 1 and," I pause I turn to my notes, "Construction Contract Law for Session 2," I confirm. "After that you have golf, and then dinner."

"So what you're telling me is that today is a long, long day."

I shrug and nod. "Yup. Let me know how that awful presentation works out for you," I snicker.

"Fan-freakin-tastic," he frowns. "Wait, you're not sticking around?"

I shake my head no. "Only to make sure it starts properly. I have to get all the afternoon breakout rooms set up while you guys are in this part."

Darien frowns briefly before taking in another bite of bagel. "Alrighty. Sounds like I am going to need a lot of coffee," he laments. "Guess I best be getting a move on then, huh?"

"Yup, you guys start in," I pause to look at my watch, "five minutes or so."

"Okay. I'll see you around, then," he replies before stepping around me to get to the meeting area. Just as he walks past me, however, he pauses and leans in. "You look great, by the way," he says softly, causing my heart to pound, before he continues on his way. I feel my cheeks flush, both from the complement and the stealthy delivery. I try my best to suppress the grin forming on my face, but fail. He noticed! I _really_ want to do a happy dance, but instead I do a little giddy shoulder shrug, grab a muffin, and make my way in the opposite direction to corral the remaining breakfast stragglers.

It takes a few minutes, but I eventually succeed at shifting the attendees away from the food and into the meeting room, especially when I reiterate that coffee is available to them in the room. I stand off to the side and watch as everyone situates themselves in their same seats from yesterday, the din quieting once John Dowers introduces the facilitator we flew in from Chicago.

Ken Listenbee is an exuberant man. He immediately greets the room with a jolly hello before diving in to his rehearsed opening, coupled with lively hand gestures and energetic questions. After five minutes or so, he turns to his presentation, and I suck in a breath. _Please work, please work._ I feel relief course through me when the presentation successfully loads on to the screen, animations and all, before I slip out of the room.

Once I close the door behind me softly, I let out a breath of reprieve. _Thank goodness_. Now that my nerves are starting to calm, I make my way over to the breakfast area, pluck a container of yogurt, and take a seat at one of the abandoned tables. I savor the vanilla-flavored yogurt, knowing this will be the only time I'm not on my feet for hours. I have four conference rooms to set up, each with their own presentations and handouts, and only 90 minutes to do so. Swirling the spoon around the container once more, I hum and scoop up another bite.

As I calculate the schedule of the day, it hits me that I won't really see Darien outside of passing by one another in the hallway. Between the meeting he's in now, the breakouts, the Partner experiences, and the dinner, his day is filled to the brim. I sigh in disappointment at how unlikely it is we will spend much more time together before we return to reality. Hell, I don't even know what tomorrow holds for this little rendezvous we're having, but I would have liked to remain in this bubble for another twenty four hours.

I tap the bottom of the yogurt, another wave of disappointment hitting when I realize I've mindlessly eaten all of it.

 _Time to get back to work._

I lift myself out of my seat and make my way to the back of the room. The materials immediately greet me and I bury myself in work, separating all of my meeting handouts, signage, and thumb drives accordingly. Once I make sure all items are accounted for, I gather my supplies for breakout room number one and make my way down the hall to set up.

As soon as reach the room I drop all my paperwork on one of the tables. Fortunately the room was set up lecture-style per my request, so at least I don't have the hassle of tracking down an employee to help me shuffle tables. I busy myself with separating out my documents when I'm startled by a pair of hands grasping at my waist, papers fluttering down at the surprise.

Before the door has even closed, Darien wraps his arms around me from behind. One inhale of that musky scent and I want to turn around. It blows my mind; it has only been a few days and already I can tell when he's nearby. "You scared me!" I stammer. He murmurs what sounds like a sorry against my neck, but the apology falls on deaf ears. His right hand drops to my thigh, pulling up the skirt that hangs so loose just above my knees. I couldn't move even if I tried, like his fingers have short circuited my mind in the best possible way. He turns me around lifts me on to the table, the skirt now sliding up my thighs as Darien positions himself between them, eyes searching mine. I smile and pull him in for a kiss, raking my hands through those styled, ebony locks. With my lips I feel his mouth stretching wider than it should, fighting between a grin and a kiss.

With the door closed every pretense falls. In here, I don't need to pretend. I don't need to look away or avert my eyes; I get to be as greedy as I want. To trace every inch of him. Soak in the tingles that rise up my arms, down my legs, deep into my core as his fingertips brush against my skin. Every kiss is pure intensity; breathing fast, heart rates faster. But time is of the essence. It doesn't take long for me to unbuckle his pants. I want him, all of him, so badly. Our tongues are entwined in a deep kiss and I distantly register the familiar sound of tearing foil before he's inside, changing my breathing with every thrust. His hands roam against my clothed curves as I drape around him.

I grip at his hair while wrapping my legs around his hips, bringing him deeper, somehow closer, and the feel of him so overwhelmingly near Is my undoing. I pant into his neck as he rocks against my orgasm, my body shuddering beneath his taut frame. He lets out a grunt of his own moments after, dropping his head into my shoulder as I revel in the feel of him against me. My fingers are still twined in his hair as I sober up from our intense, extremely sneaky moment. I suspect that his absence is likely noticed at this point.

"You should be getting back," I whisper against him before gently kissing his clean-shaven cheek. He grunts a 'no' in return. I drop another kiss, and then another, traveling down his jaw, relishing the response of his fingers grasping my hips. "Duty calls," I murmur. He eventually complies and pulls away from me, discretely cleaning himself off. I slip off of the table and adjust myself quickly, making sure that I don't appear too disheveled. I snicker at my once-organized papers now sprawled across the table and a few on the ground.

I am about to crouch down when a tidied-up Darien grabs my hand and pulls me into him. With laugh I comply, enveloped in his embrace. He places a kiss on my forehead that turns my knees into mush.

"Sorry I messed up your paperwork."

I shake my head, smile widening in humor. "I have extras. Besides, it was worth it."

Darien softly chuckles before tipping my chin up and giving me one final, soul-shattering kiss. Before I let him slip away, I reach up on my toes and tuck the last bit of loose hair back into place. "Ok, you're good to go," I observe. One more core melting smile and he is out of the room.

Once the door clicks behind me, I lean up against the table and place my hand over my pounding heart. _Holy shit, did that just happen? Because that was fucking HOT._

#

I am all smiles as the day wanes on, and before I know it the time comes for the Partner dinner preparations. All of the Partners were out and about, be it at the salon, golfing, or starting early at the bar, but within the next hour they would be making their way over here for refreshments. I nod my head once I walk into the room, the space set up exactly as the event planner communicated with me. _Make sure to follow-up with Emily and give her accolades for her effort_ I scribble on my notepad, one more to-do added to my endless list.

I circle around the tables, noting everything in place, including a firm-branded tchotchke at each seat. I roll my eyes; the marketing department insists on these every year in hopes that the Partner will either use it or gift it to a client. This year it's a phone power-bank with our firm's logo on it. Practical, yeah, but slightly cheesy. But, that's my opinion. I'll likely never use mine, but instead gift it to one of the kids when I get home. In fact, I bet I can pluck one of the leftovers tomorrow so I can give one to each of them.

My heart warms at the thought of my kids. I've really missed them the last few days. With everything that has gone on lately, I feel like I haven't seen them as much as I should. I slow my steps as the thought crosses my mind. Between school, work, sports, and now them living with Seiya part-time, our quality time together really has gone down. I frown. That's not good; not good at all. And at a time in their lives when they really need some sort of stability? I close my eyes as guilt washes over me.

Fuck. I feel absolutely _awful._ I know that life has been tough on them lately. They didn't ask for this shitty situation with Seiya and I. There's a lump in my throat and the overwhelming need to do something for the kids. Do I take them on a trip? Play hooky one day and spend time together? Make some kind of weekly ritual in the house where we all do something fun?

"Serena, are you okay?"

My eyes snap open, suddenly face-to-face with Anne. With an embarrassed flush I try not to wince as I reply, "Yeah, just, lost in my own thoughts." She doesn't seem convinced, crossing her arms and eyebrow arched.

"Are you sure? You look… conflicted," she assumes correctly. _I am NOT divulging my problems to you_ , I mentally chide. Anne has never been my favorite person. Hell, we barely speak outside of necessity. _But how can I get her to move on?_

"It's nothing, really. Just," _go the kid route, go the kid route!_ "My kids' sporting schedules have been crossing quite a bit lately, and my nanny just started a night-class, so I need to figure out some sort of alternative transportation on Thursdays," I lie. "I just got the text from the nanny a moment ago, so, yeah," I finish with a wave of my phone. Sure enough, Anne shrugs, like I figured she would.

"Ah, gotcha. That does sound complicated. Good luck," she adds as she makes her way over to the bar. I let out a puff of air once I see her back turned. It's not that I hate the woman or anything, I just never cared for her. Plus, she seems like a gossip. And given that she wants to get into Darien's good graces the less she knows about me, the better.

Collecting myself, I resume my check of the area, wrapping it up as more Partners fill the space. Darien walks in with a few of the Senior Partners, laughing at something one of them said. My heart warms as I watch his cheeks merrily crinkle, the distinct sound carrying over the crowd noise like the finest melody. I smile to myself as I drink in the noise, doing my best not to look at him to avoid someone noticing. Once I observe that the room is starting to fill, I make my way towards the exit. After all, it's my turn to get that massage. I giggle inwardly as I shuffle towards the door, thoughts of the next hour's total relaxation flooding my mind. It doesn't last. The sound of my name carries and I pause my steps.

"Hey, Serena, come here a second, if you don't mind?"

I look over in the direction of Rubeus Prism, one of our newly promoted Partners, and concern washes over me. I don't think I've spoken more than five sentences to this man. In fact, he has always been kind of intimidating to me.

As I approach him and a few members of his team, I immediately respond with a "is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah," he quickly waves off my concern, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Thank you?"

"Yeah. Darien told me about the PharmaMed deposition and how you basically cracked the case."

I feel my cheeks burn from the compliment. "Oh... yeah. I'm happy I was able to help," I downplay.

"No, seriously," he adds as he bites the olive from his martini. "If it wasn't for you, that would have cost PharmaMed millions of dollars. You should be a lawyer."

My eyes widen at the suggestion. "What?"

"Seriously. That catch was huge," he continues. "Have you ever considered it?"

"I... um," I stumble, my eyes darting over to Darien. Did he put Rubeus up to this? "I actually was in law school. But, surprise pregnancy," I allude, letting him figure out the rest.

"Oh!" he exclaims. "That makes so much more sense now!" I raise an eyebrow to him. "I mean, you really seem to get it. No wonder everyone always goes to you," he compliments. I am about to thank him once more, but he throws me another curveball. "Have you ever thought of going back?"

I try my best not to blush as I reflect on the encouraging words Darien offered weeks ago. "Actually, I am. Thinking about it. Very early thoughts," I add with a laugh.

"Well, you've got my vote of confidence," Rubeus adds with a lift of his drink. "Let me know if you need a reference."

My eyes widen, taken aback by the offer. "I appreciate that, thank you!" I exclaim in surprise. He smiles and nods before turning back to the group he was previously speaking with, but I am in shock. I have received praise for my work in the past, but nothing, nothing like that. For a new partner who barely knows me to say something so inspiring? _It almost competes with what Darien said the night he took me to dinner._

With the thought of Darien resonating in my mind, I immediately search him out in the crowd. He's at the bar, a glass tumbler in hand, sipping at an earthy-colored liquid and laughing at something John said. I can't help but wonder if it's this strange connection we're developing, or if he could feel eyes on him, but we suddenly catch each other's gaze. He flashes me a dazzling smile, leaving my heart pounding.

 _Almost_ _competes. But not quite._

My eyes look out to my colleagues. They all appear to be having a good time; laughing, conversing, a drink in their hand. I purse my lips in thought; should I stay?

No. No; it's not my place to stay. I mean, I've always been told that I could, but never really felt comfortable doing so. Like I said to Darien the other night, I handle the administrative side of our work. What could I possibly have to contribute to a conversation? At least, beyond how to properly format documents or how to use Macros in Microsoft Word?

Yet my feet are unmoving.

Maybe it's because he's waved at me to come join him. Or, maybe it's because I feel like I could belong if I stop beating myself up over my hiatus in school. But for the first time in the years I have planned this event, I decide to stay. At least for the social hour. Honestly, staying for dinner? I think that would be more intrusive.

But, hey, at least it's a step in the right direction.

I do a quick about-face before I change my mind and make my way toward the bar. It's magnetic, the pull he has on me. I feel confidence bubbling up as I weave through my coworkers. But just as I am about to approach him, I hear my name being called from another direction. I pause my steps to look around, noticing Birdie from the Government Regulations practice waving me to her. My eyebrows raise in surprise, but I change my direction over to her, a polite smile stretched across my face as I reach her and a few additional partners from that team. Once again, I can't help but feel as if something is amiss, so once I approach her, I immediately proposition her with a "Is everything alright?" After all, she's another Partner in our large firm that I don't speak with on a regular basis. Her smile catches me off guard, especially when she shakes her head no.

"No, of course not; everything is fantastic," she reassures. "I heard about what you did with the PharmaMed deposition. That's amazing that you caught that!"

"Oh, yeah," I stammer once more. _Seriously, has everyone heard about this or something?_ "I'm glad I was able to help." I downplay the compliment with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Help? You did so much more than that!" she exclaims into her glass. "You were Damien's legal secretary prior to Darien's, yes?" she inquires, continuing on when I nod my head in confirmation. "He always bragged about you; about how talented you are."

"Oh, wow. Really?" I stumble out, both embarrassed and humbled. I knew Damien liked working with me, but to hear it come from someone else I barely know?

"Absolutely," she confirms. "Seems to me you could be an asset to the firm if you ever considered moving up."

I blink two, three times in surprise. _She_ _'_ _s the second person today to say this. What'_ _s going on?_ "I'm thinking of it," I shyly admit, not entirely sure if I really should be. However, when her sky blue eyes widen with a look of delight, I feel a bit more at ease.

"That's wonderful!" she exclaims. "If you ever have any questions or need any pointers, don't hesitate to stop in my office, okay? You're a bright girl, and I think you have a bright future in front of you. Truly."

My jaw drops but I quickly compose myself. "Thank you. Really, thank you." When she turns back to her group, I make my way back to my original destination. I am blown away by the level of support I have at this company, _especially_ at my current position. As soon as I reach the bar and ask for my choice scotch, my mind buzzing with confidence.

Yes.

I can do more.

I am an asset to W&S, not just some secretary who dropped out of law school.

A smile stretches across my face. Not once have I thought of myself this way. And boy, oh boy, it feels… _amazing._ Sure, I know I'll likely never be a Partner of a law firm. I have come to accept that, given my family. Nor do regret or resent it. But, I damn well know I am capable of doing so much more.

Like, maybe... paralegal?

The bartender sets my drink in front of me. Mechanically lifting the drink and taking a lengthy sip, I ponder the idea that just came to light. Going to school to be a paralegal wouldn't be unfeasible. In fact, it would probably be ideal. Given my prior studies and my employer, I know what goes into such a position. Plus, when the kids are grown or in college, if I wanted to pursue my studies even further it wouldn't be as hard.

"You appear to be lost in thought."

My eyes snap to Darien, who orders himself a drink. He flashes me a dazzling smile. "Everything okay?"

I nod my head enthusiastically. "Yup. All is good." I smile into my drink before taking a sip. He looks at me to elaborate further, but I opt not to. The idea is so premature, I'm not sure if I want to even admit out loud yet. Not until I look into it further. But in the spirit of not leaving him hanging, I turn toward Darien. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"It seems a bunch of people know about the deposition thing I caught. I'm assuming you told them?"

He give me a knowing look and sips at his drink. "Of course. You're the one who spotted the lie, not the team assigned to it."

I smile as I look down at my own beverage. "It just took me by surprise, because it seems _everyone_ knows, not just that department."

Darien sets his glass on a cocktail napkin, staring into it as he confesses, "That's because I brought it up today as an example."

"Example?" My eyes are wide as I take this in.

He turns towards me. "About recognizing talent around us." My jaw slackens, but quickly snaps shut when Darien shifts closer. "I was serious when I said that you could do so much more," he says in a voice just above a whisper. "And they are as well," he affirms with a flick of his eyes out towards the crowd. "Really."

My heart is pounding at this point from the belief radiating off of him. He has only known me for such a short time and he already believes in me this much? The urge to tell him my idea overpowers my earlier thoughts, but as I open my mouth to tell him my plan of maybe-starting paralegal studies, we are interrupted by my least favorite person.

"So, Darien," Anne interjects as she slips between us, placing her empty martini glass on the table. "Did you hear that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has issued a new guideline for prescribing opioids for chronic pain?" I watch as he furrows his eyebrows, his soft lips curling into a perplexed frown.

"Yeah," he answers with obvious disinterest. Anne doesn't seem to pick up on it, though.

"So, the guideline comes on the heels of a nationwide focus on opioid use and abuse. You know, because of all of the epidemic deaths attributed to them? I want to pick your brain about the recommendations, if you don't mind."

At this point I'm lucky Anne can't see me, because I roll my eyes and shake my head at the ridiculousness of the situation. Darien must have seen me, because I see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly as he holds my stare for a second. Unfortunately, I know that to keep up the charade, I need to move on, so I grab my glass and move out into the crowd. The sound of metal lids lifting distracts me, the aroma of herbs and spices wafting through the space. Deciding now is a good time to take my leave, I make my way towards the exit just as John Dowers stands at the podium and asks everyone to be seated.

I linger in the doorway, watching Anne as she follows Darien like a puppy dog to the table, naturally plopping herself right next to him. Eyes narrowed, I fish out my phone as I turn to leave. There is no stopping my smirk as I type.

My eyes scan the empty atrium and land on a shadowed space; more importantly, a perfectly placed Ficus. I quickly look around, spotting no one, and slip into the area. As I study the nook I'm surprised to see a latch. _Broom closet! Yes!_ I quickly pull it open, slipping in to the small, dark space. I leave the door slightly ajar, and just as I had hoped, I see him turn the corner, tapping into his own phone before looking around. I bite my lip as he begins to walk by me and snag his arm the moment he is in my line of attack.

If he was startled, I never would have known, because the moment I pull at him he is against me in an instant. The door closes with velocity, our lips pressed against each other, as if we're each other's air supply. His fingers weave their way into my hair, unraveling what was left of my styled hairdo from earlier. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body up against his and sliding my leg up his hip. When he lets out a low groan, I start to kiss at his jaw, to his ear, to his neck. He pants against me as I mark him with my lips, branding him with my kiss. Once I've traveled up and down his right side, I run my fingers through the back of his hair and pull him against me once more.

After a few moments we press our foreheads against one another, panting in sync. And while I know I could convince him to take me here, to repeat what we did this morning, I want him thinking of me. Only me.

"For when you're done," I whisper as I reach into my purse and pull out the second keycard that the hotel provided me, slipping it into his breast pocket.

He lets out another groan before capturing my lips once more.

#

 _"_ _You'_ _ve got to beeelieeeEEEEve, in the POWER OF LOVE!"_

I can't help it. I am belting out some ridiculous, cheesy song from the 90s, but I am just... Wow. Renewed.

It's a strange revelation, the shift in emotion I feel as I arrive back in Seattle. What a retreat. Oh boy what a retreat it was! I feel like a completely different woman. Tired, sure, but mostly inspired.

The last few hours with Darien, before begrudgingly leaving his side, were intense. He was at my door within the hour, and in my bed seconds later. Two, three times last night… and twice this morning. Once in the shower. I can't help but giggle at that thought. Fuck coffee in the shower; Darien is a _much_ better alternative.

Unfortunately we never got a chance to talk about what comes next. He was pulled into a sudden meeting with the practice leaders, so he had to dash to his room and change before meeting with the team. When I return to work in a few days, it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Will it be a relationship? Will this remain a weekend tryst? I shrug, not too concerned. Regardless of what happens next, I don't regret it.

I pull into the apartment complex and laugh as I think of the complete flip in my demeanor. Just a few days ago I sat here, completely dejected. My kids were unhappy, I was a nervous wreck about leaving them, and was conflicted about seeing Seiya's new place and what feelings that might bring up. Feelings, oddly enough, that pushed me into a different way of thinking. I focused on how Elsie and Alex might respond to being there, instead of how I felt _not_ being there. I'm not entirely upset that it's not the four of us. It's a peculiar, calming sentiment. Does this mean I'm really beginning to accept that this separation really is what is best for our family?

As I twist down the roads of the complex my thoughts continue. I mean, duh, I must be on board to sleep with another guy, right? I've never been 'that girl' who just has sex with someone for the sake of temporary satisfaction; there has always been some sort of emotion tied with my decision to become intimate. And I've never, ever cheated on Seiya. Ever. And I never would have, either. I mean, I know I almost shared that almost-kiss with Darien at that holiday party, but nothing actually _happened_ , nor would I have let myself. At least, I don't think I would have? But to actually sleep with Darien, somehow I must be progressing toward some sort of peace in the separation.

I pull into an open parking space and quickly turn off the car, a small smile stretching my lips as I nod to myself. The change has been hard. But to keep resisting it? It was evident this weekend that once I stopped trying to resist it, different things started to happen. I connected with a man who made me feel passion that has been absent in my life for so long. I took a leap of faith and went to that networking dinner for longer than I had expected to and discovered that I have the respect of my colleagues. But most important of all, that my dream of becoming a lawyer doesn't have to be over. And I've decided to run with it.

I'm going to do it. I am going to look in to both paralegal and legal studies.

Adrenaline pulses through me as I walk up the stairwell to the apartment, especially evident by my quick rap at the door.

"Hey guys!" I exclaim, drinking in the sight of my babies. Man, I know my mind has been somewhere else the last couple of days, but seeing my kids after being away always brings me such immense joy. I ruffle Alex's hair before pulling Elsie into an embrace, and I want to gush even more when she returns it. "You guys ready to take off?"

A duet of "yeah" answers my question, both kids reaching for their bags. As I watch them, an idea percolates. Between all of the shuffling around lately and the odd fact that no one has anything going on this evening, I have this inexplicable urge to do something fun with them. A glance at the microwave says it's only 6:00.

"Did you guys eat yet?" A shake of their heads solidifies my next thought. "Because I was thinking we could go for some hibachi. What do you guys think?"

Alex's eyes widen, and I want to let out a victory cry when I see a smile twitch his mouth. Elsie immediately lets out an enthusiastic "yes!" as she slings her duffle bag under her arm.

"Bye, Dad!" she exclaims while she gives him a quick hug and shuffles to the doorway, the bounce in her step obvious. Alex gives his typical wave, a softer version of goodbye, and makes his own trek to the door. I turn my head to watch the kids, my heart leaping for joy at how eager they are, when I turn to look at Seiya and thank him for his help. I notice he's looking at me kind of odd, but I shrug it off, chalking it up to the fact that three days ago I was miserable and today I am quite the opposite.

"Thanks again, Seiya," I say with a cheerful smile. I know I need to tone down the happiness here, but what can I say, it's been a damn good couple of days!

"Yeah, no problem," he responds with a cross of his arms. "Everything good?"

"Yup, everything went really, really well," I reply, inwardly giggling at how well _everything_ went. Just as I feel my cheeks begin to tint, I turn away so he doesn't catch on to anything. "So, Saturday, right?" I say, hoping that a change in conversation stops my thought train.

"Yeah, Saturday," he confirms.

"Ok, see ya then. I'm gonna go, ya know, feed them," I say with a bunch of awkward hand gestures as I back down the hallway. _Gosh, why am I acting so damn neurotic? Act casual_ _… act… normal._ "So…" I flounder with one hell of an awkward clap followed by even more embarrassing finger pointing, "I'm gonna... head out."

Seiya raising an eyebrow at me wasn't completely unexpected, so I mutter a vague explanation. "Sorry, just, you know, haven't seen them in a few days, and I'm excited," which isn't completely untrue. I mean, I'm pretty damn sore between my legs right now as well, but he doesn't need to know that. He nods his head in acquiescence and I give him a small wave goodbye.

Both kids are bouncing as I approach the door, Alex thrusting it open with an impatient heave. "Can I get the steak _and_ the shrimp?" he asks as we walk into the cold, and my heart sings from the excitement in his voice, and for the first time in months, or maybe years, I feel at peace with everything in my life. Maybe, I daresay, things are on the upswing from here on out?

"You bet!"


	15. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! Thank you for your patience as I worked on this chapter. I had an original idea that was not flowing, and then, BAM, it hit me... two days ago. And I got it to the fabulous Pia Bartolini yesterday at noon, and she turned it around in 24 HOURS... with the BEST comments XD _

_AND I AM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU!_

 _Just a small disclaimer: aside from the characters and anything related to Sailor Moon not being mine in any way, shape, or form, the legal scenario below is fictitious and does not depict any actual person or event. Thanks!_

 _I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what your thoughts are :D_

* * *

It's amazing how thinking "things are back to normal" is the moment you fall back in your routine.

Today started off like any other day: yell at kids to get up, get dressed in whatever clean outfit looked somewhat decent, yell at kids to get dressed, rub some moisturizer into my face, yell at kids that cereal is at the table, consume 5 cups of coffee… all before 8 am.

I'm not sure why I thought the morning routine would be any different. My salacious rendezvous with Darien was the last thing on my mind; morning Mom duties consumed all of my thoughts. Coupled with the noise of Rice Krispies crunching in the background, any of the aforementioned tawdry events stay on the back burner. I reload the kids' school lunch accounts with money (followed by a quick scolding to Elsie that a bagel does not equal a complete meal), we spend 15 minutes looking for Alex's other sneaker, resulting in the kids nearly missing the bus.

After watching the mad dash to the bus from the front door, I inhale a protein bar, toss one of the multiple boxes of frozen meals into my bag, grumble as Dory's engine takes a few tries to turn over, make my way into the city, and, FINALLY, arrive at work.

Holy smokes I'm exhausted. Even my mental tally sounds overwhelming.

Of course, it would figure that the first time any circumspection hits me is when I finally pull into the parking lot. Darien's car parked in the reserved spaces jolts me out of Mom-mode and back into this realty. Then, only then, do I feel my palms begin to sweat in recognition of what transpired over the last few days.

I had sex.

I had sex with a man that was not my husband.

I had sex with a man that was not only not my husband, but a man that I'm not in any kind of… _committed_ …relationship with. Because we certainly have a relationship. A _professional_ one.

It would figure that all of this hits me now. Yeah, the last 72 hours were… oh, fuck it. The last three days were more than I could have ever wanted. It was hot. Scandalous. More than my wildest dreams ever could have imagined! And I had lots of them… _lots_.

At this point, all I need is Darien propped on my bed, wearing my bathrobe, and eating a candy bar to really make shit weirder than it is.

Unfortunately, though, now my moral compass begins to spin like crazy. I don't do things like this! Hell, I'm newly separated! The divorce hasn't even been FINALIZED! And yet I was so quick, so eager to jump into bed with another man? And not just any man… my BOSS?

Not to mention, how the HELL am I going to go inside and act like things are… are… normal?! Can I even LOOK at Darien without giving it all away? I have the worst poker face, as my friends have been quick to point out. I groan; Lita's going to pick up on it immediately, I just know it. I can see it now: us in the lunch room, her teasing me, asking those leading questions that she's so fucking good at asking. And then I'll turn tomato-faced and eventually let it spill, because, FUCK, it was SO GOOD.

And then she'll know.

And then Ken will know.

And then the office will know.

And then I'll get fired. Or labeled a slut. Or accused of sleeping my way to the top. Or all of the above! Or a… I don't know?!

Annnnd now I've gone and officially freaked myself the fuck out.

I let out a frazzled breath, my weak attempt to calm down. Why the hell didn't I schedule this nervous breakdown for the confines of my bedroom last night rather than the parking lot of my office? And at… 8:09. Okay, so now I'm officially late on top of it. Just great.

Closing my eyes, I whisper my mantra, "Suck it up, buttercup, and let's go." I remain still for a moment, then nod my head. I can't just stay in the parking lot and freak out. I have work to do, likely a sizable amount since I've been gone for three days. _So, just go in there, walk straight to your desk, turn on your computer and dive in._ Yes. _Yes_ , this mission is perfect. Don't allow any distractions, don't stop and chat with _anyone_. Go in. Sit down. Do your work.

I pull at the door handle, wincing a little as the door screeches opens, and close it behind me. Focus on putting one foot in front of the other as I clutch at my bag, all while trying to breathe. My nerves feel like it's the first day I've ever been here, but I can't help it. Things are going to be different. Things are going to change.

Or, maybe… just maybe… they won't?

The realization startles me as I pull at the brass handle of the doorway. What if he wants to forget any of this ever happened?

A new circulation of thoughts flood my mind as I walk through the building. What if this was just a one-time thing? Or he was swept up in the setting of being away from our normal lives? For all I know, he was just looking to get laid and I was the willing participant. Maybe it was the booze that gave us the confidence, or heightened our desire to do this. Or… or…

Shit.

I drop my bag on my desk, the loud thud carrying over the melody of keystrokes and printers. Ugh, so much for being discreet. If anything, I've just announced my late arrival to work. Items spill out of my purse onto my desk and today is going to be _one of those days_ if I don't get a grip.

I take stock of my desk as I shove my items back into my bag, noting my once-empty inbox is now stacked with paperwork.

Bingo! The perfect distraction!

I quickly shove my purse off to the side of my desk and reach for the paperwork, powering my computer on in the meantime. I flip through the redlines of the documents as my computer boots up, pleased that today's work will be plentiful. Editing depositions means no thinking of steamy sex with Darien. Or how good his muscles felt beneath my fingertips. The way he gripped my hips when I was on top of him, with those skillful hands digging into my—

"SERENA."

My eyes widen at the realization my name is being bellowed out, snapping to the source. And there he is, the man of my fantasies, standing in his doorway. Only it's not quite the look I would have hoped for. In fact, he looks mighty… impatient.

Oh. He needs me. And not in _that_ way.

"Yes?" I squeak out automatically, grabbing my laptop off of the dock in the process. God damn, that man looks so good, even though he's about to lose his shit on me. Oh boy, he's stressed about something. It's obvious. _Oh no_. Did someone find out? Am I fired? How? When?! Shit, I _KNEW_ I shouldn't have done that whole keycard thing! Damn it! Damn it all!

"Get in here, now!" he exclaims as he waves me over, and I feel my legs turn to led. Yup; I'm fired. Fired. Fired fired fired fired. I want to cry, can feel the lump forming in my throat. I force myself out of my chair with a shaky breath and make my way to his office, convinced everything I've worked for is over. All because I wanted to have sex with my boss.

As I approach the doorway, however, my fears vanish. There's a group of people with notepads and laptops and copies of paperwork. Then it dawns on me; it's a meeting. A meeting that, maybe if I wasn't late to work or opened my email instead of fantasizing about Darien, I would have known I needed to be in. Which also explains the justifiable annoyance he had with me this morning.

And just like that we're back in familiar territory. He's my boss, I am his assistant. And I have a job to do.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I make my way to the back corner of the room. I quietly open my laptop on the small table Darien uses for his one-on-one meetings. Hurriedly opening my word processor, I type the date and time of the meeting while Darien leans against his desk. Seated in front of him is Anne, Rubeus, and Catsi; an odd mishmash of colleagues. Silently, though, I'm relieved to see no one from HR, meaning our secret remains safe.

"We've been retained by NorthShore International as they begin the process to transfer control of Monroe Realty Management, LLC," Darien prefaces to the group before him. "NorthShore is a REIT company based out of Portland, whereas Monroe Realty is headquartered here." Darien pauses as he folds his arms together. "Surely, you're all aware of Monroe's current situation?"

Everyone in the room nods, myself included. Monroe Realty is a local, and once-prominent, tenant leasing company that managed hundreds of properties across the country. Unfortunately, they took one too many shortcuts on their taxes and got busted by the Feds.

"The reason why I asked all of you here is because this isn't just a normal purchasing transaction. NorthShore has asked us to take a very close look at the rental portfolio. We need to examine everything; claims on the buildings, work done to the properties, the lenders, if any outstanding loans are delinquent, and so on. This isn't going to be easy work. It's going to be a lot of digging. But we need to make sure that every single building is cross-checked and has zero liability before NorthShore completes their transfer."

The group nods, their faces stoic. Not easy work indeed; a lot of research means a LOT of late nights.

"There is significant pressure from the lenders to get these properties transferred, so unfortunately, time is going to be of the essence on this one," Darien adds with a frown. "However, NorthShore has already agreed to our billing proposal, so make sure you account for all your time. All of it."

The team turns to discussing strategy while I continue to feverishly type, listening as they rattle off potential staff to be a part of their designated groups. Currently, they've divided the teams into regions, and are now arguing which staff member they want to assist on who's team. I grimace at how miserable it sounds; certainly no glamour or glitz behind this kind of work. It sounds like a lot of late nights on the internet, phone calls, and reviewing reams of financial statements to make sure everything is in the-

"I think that we should pull Serena onto the paralegal team," Darien suddenly announces, thwarting my typing. I can't help but hesitate as I look up from my computer screen, four sets of eyes briefly falling on me before turning back to their discussion.

"What?" Anne chides, which ruffles my feathers slightly. "Darien, she's not a registered paralegal. No offense, Serena," she tactfully adds, which has me suppressing an eyeroll. _Sure, no offense, bitch. If you think I didn't like you before…_

"We need all the bodies we can get, Anne, and Serena's cost per hour is significantly lower. Plus, she has the experience," Darien counters. My heart warms at the vote of confidence, even if I'm not quite sure I agree.

Rubeus is nodding. "She did crack that Pharmaceuticals case," he chimes in.

Catsi is quick to side with Rubeus. "I don't see the harm in it. Darien makes a good point with her cost, especially if she has the experience. You do have the experience, right, Serena?" she suddenly redirects to me.

"I, um," I sputter briefly before I compose myself. _Girl, THIS is your moment. SEIZE IT._ "When I worked under Damien I did a lot of research for his casework, yes."

Rubeus is still nodding feverously, probably because he likes how cheap I come, meaning more profit for the Partners. Anne, however, is not sold.

"Then why aren't you a paralegal, Serena?" she flat-out asks me. My stare narrow at her; what the heck is her deal? Is she irritated that I might be of some assistance? Or is it… that I'm a threat to her? Because Darien suggested it? I feel an evil smile curl inside me. _You want to challenge me? Okay then. Game on._

"Actually, Anne, as a legal assistant, it falls under my scope of work that to be actively involved in case preparation. If I were a legal secretary, which I am not, there would be a bit more restriction on that. I just have limited client and court room contact is all, really," I add with a smile. In the distance I see Darien smirk briefly, knowing that I've come back with one hell of a rebuttal, one that has left Anne silent.

I grin to myself as I look back down at my keyboard, continuing to type additional notes as the leaders press forward. We work through an email together to the selected team, move scheduling mountains to get the interns cleared off of other cases and put on this one, and schedule both a collective group meeting and strategy meetings by property regions.

It is hours later when we conclude, Anne, Catzi, and Rubeus being making their way out of Darien's office. However, as I begin to close my laptop, he taps at the table to get my attention.

"Can you hang back for a minute?" he asks so casually, you'd never guess I'd seen him naked just days ago. I nod and sit back down, watching him as he walks the team out of his office. When it appears that they've made their way to their own offices, he turns back into the room and closes the door.

He makes his way to the table, my gaze fixated on his forearms. At some point during the meeting, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up, the material resting just below his elbow. I am not sure what it is about exposed forearms, but, damn, they're downright sexy. Darien's especially. All tan and muscular, accented by dark hair and a golden watch.

 _Down girl, down._

In all honesty, I half expected him to try and kiss me, or touch me, or give me one hell of an ankle-weakening kiss. So, it was a big surprise when he sat across from me and folded his fingers together instead.

"I just want to make sure you're comfortable with the role I just assigned to you," he states diplomatically. I blink a couple of times to register that we are talking about work.

I swallow to moisten the disappointment lingering in my throat as I speak. "I am," I reply. "I'm assuming a lot of late nights, a lot of phone calls and research, yes?"

Darien nods in confirmation. "If at any point it becomes too much for you, or your other responsibilities get in the way, just let me know, okay?" he offers considerately.

"Okay."

"I do think you can do this," he continues. "And if my father entrusted you with this kind of work prior to my coming here, I have to believe that you know what you're doing. And we need all the people we can for this one. But you already know that."

I nod my head again, listening as he speaks to me as a mentor instead of… whatever we are. Or aren't. Unfortunately, rather than focus on this opportunity to prove myself, all I can think about is what is not being discussed. Are we something? Are we nothing?

And then it hits me. Why am I obsessing over this instead of the opportunity? This is what I have dreamed of for years. Years! So why am I fretting over the brief encounter that we shared? Why am I stuck in my head, wishing that I could define this? Why not just chalk it up to an indiscretion, a fun time, and move forward in my career? After all, I was just saying that I am still technically married. And the day after we slept together I _did_ say I didn't want to define anything. So why now? Why am I so hung up?

I cross my ankles, ignoring the pulsing between my legs that is screaming the answer at me. There is no way I'm letting my vagina bring me down. This is my _dream_. Sure, it's paralegal work, but it's a step up from where I am now. It's a step in the direction that shows my worth to this firm. That I am an innovator. That I am a team player.

I smile to myself in renewed determination. "I'm ready to accept the challenge," I reply to him in full confidence. "And I know that I'll be of value. Thank you for recommending me to assist with the team."

My heart melts slightly at his answering smile, but I force myself to assume his intent is pride instead of any sort of romantic assessment. If I continue to think sexy thoughts, I won't be able to focus on this opportunity.

Which means… I should probably close the door on another indiscretion, shouldn't I?

My heart sinks in rebellion at the thought.

I really, really enjoyed my time with Darien, both in and out of the bedroom. Yes, the last few days I got to know him intimately, but that time we went out for dinner? I had so much fun conversing with him, laughing and smiling. I would absolutely love to do something like that with him again. But… I also know the probability of a romantic repeat is damn near impossible. Our working relationship prohibits us from ever, ever being more than a weekend fling. Unless I quit my job or transfer departments. And that is something I am not willing to do.

I catch Darien just as he's shifting his weight in his seat. "Listen," I say in a hesitant voice, "about the other night…" I gulp as his eyes widen, staring at me in both interest and what I can only conclude as disbelief that I'm actually discussing it here. The words feel like lead as they roll off my tongue. "I don't know if we should do that again."

Darien narrows his eyes as he purses his lips, and I'm convinced he's about to interrupt me and tell me to stop. Surprisingly, though, he stays silent. And sadly, I take that as confirmation to continue.

"I just think that this opportunity... it's best I focus on it."

"Uh huh," Darien answers slowly, his eyebrow raised at me as he cocks his head slightly. Ugh. Cocks. I internally wince, his was so fantastic.

"I hope that's… okay?"

He stays still for a moment, and in all honestly, I am slightly confused by his mannerisms. Is he surprised? Hurt? Or is he playing dumb and acting like the last three days never happened? I am even more confused when he suddenly smiles at me. Not the sincere, proud smile from earlier. It's one of confidence. One of… determination.

"Okay," he finally answers as he leans back in his chair.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. We can just pretend nothing ever happened," he banters with that smile. Of course in that moment my resolve betrays me, the way he lazily crossed his leg, his chest puffed out from leaning in his seat, his shirt contouring against his firm, chiseled chest…

"Uh, yeah," I agree with a frown. _Okay, this 'cutting off' thing is a LOT harder than I thought it was going to be._ Darien suddenly adjusts himself, leaning into the table while resting his chin on his fist. He's still wearing this grin, this… all-knowing grin. A grin that is probably going to be my demise. Unfortunately, now I am doubting everything I just proclaimed moments before. Shit, now I'm about to contradict myself. _Don't do it. Don't say it. Don't-_ "It's the right thing to do… right?"

"Is that what you want?"

I frown. No. No, it's not. But what else can I do? I need to focus on this opportunity. I need to. For my babies. For my self-worth. For me.

But damn it, Darien is good for me too, right?! At least, he can be, if I let him be! But is a secret relationship good for me? Jeopardizing my job at each encounter? Is the risk worth the reward?

Darien must sense my inner turmoil, because he gently, and very discretely, brushes his fingertips against my wrist. I feel a jolt at the site of contact, my heart racing in response.

"Focus on the opportunity," Darien guides. Our eyes connect, my turmoil soothed by those hypnotic, stormy blue orbs. "Moments like this do not come around very often. Seize it."

I return a small nod, followed by an even smaller smile.

He removes his hand, the skin where it lingered now tingling from lack of warmth. We simultaneously stand up and I drink in the sight of him once more. After all, once I leave this room, I've closed the door on any sort of relationship that extends beyond professional. And it hurts. Even though I suggested this, it hurts so damn much right now.

"Thank you again, for the opportunity," I say, praying with all my might that I don't sound like I'm about to break down and cry. Because I am happy. I am so excited to do this work and maybe move up from my position. But I feel like I'm about to lose something I'm not sure I want to lose. And that… that uncertainty? It's a tough one to swallow.

Deciding that there is no more to say, I make my way to the door. My arm extends for the bronze handle only to see that Darien's hand has reached for it as well. I can't help but gasp at the contact from the sides of our hands brushing, a trail of electrifying bursts skate up my arm. My eyes flutter shut as I feel his presence shift closer to the door, the trace of his cologne getting stronger. Our hands remain frozen on the upright handle, but the gap between us has closed.

We remain still. My head is telling me to go, to open the door and walk away. Focus on the opportunity. _The opportunity_. But my body is screaming to turn around, to kiss him, touch him, press my body against him and take it back. Because I want him. I want him _so fucking badly_.

And he… he knows it.

I bite down on my lip when I feel his hand hesitantly rest on my hip, only to feel my insides squirm when I feel him apply the slightest amount of pressure from his hold.

 _We shouldn't be doing this._

I let my neck fall slightly to the left, very aware of the hair on the back of my neck standing from the warmth of his breath. The sensation sends goosebumps down my spine, straight to my core, and I am damning myself.

 _We shouldn't be doing this…_

And yet…

 _We… shouldn't…_

I pivot my body…

 _Be…_

My back pressed up against the narrow space between his door and the windowpane…

 _Doing…_

Recognizing the look in his eye, the hunger… the need… for…

 _This._

And when he kisses me, when his fingertips dig further into my hips as I move my hand from the door handle and up the smooth hollow of his cheek, I willingly let temptation triumph.

After all, he did tell me to seize the opportunity.

And I'd be a damn liar if I didn't want to have my cake and eat it, too.


	16. Chapter 15

_**Authors Note:**_ _Hiiiiii guyssssss._

 _I cannot believe it is the last week of August. Summer went by wayyy to quickly (as it always does)! I know there was a really large lapse in time from my last chapter to this one, which I feel terrible about. No excuses, but I do feel that by taking my time and working through this as slowly as I did, I was able to get this chapter to really start the bridge into the next arc of this story. I have a LOT I want to showcase, and now that it's effectively bridged, I am hopeful that updates will become more frequent! So, thank you for your patience!_

 _Thank you to my friend and beta, Pia Bartolini, for her amazing edits yet again! She was extremely patient with me, checking in with me to see how progress was going, and would tag me in random posts to encourage me to keep going. And get this: she resumed teaching last week, yet managed to turn this back around to me in about 24 hours or so. YOU ARE AMAZING._

 _PSA: The suburb of 'Juniper' in Seattle is fictitious, so if you're trying to imagine where it may be (if you're a lucky-duck and have actually been to Seattle), I made it up XD I think I put it in the area of Magnolia (the second-largest neighborhood in Seattle, per my internet research) if you're looking for some sort of imagery?_

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

It has been exactly three weeks and four days.

Three weeks and four days since Darien put me on this project. Three weeks and four days of long hours, late nights, and intense research. Too many nights to count that I stay late to do more work while the kids are with Seiya.

… three weeks and four days since that kiss happened.

At first, I chalked it up to the heat of the moment. Us… alone… me hitting the indefinite pause button on whatever, possibly, _maybe_ could have been?

Next, I began to obsess over it. Was it a kiss goodbye? Thanks for the hot weekend? Or was it more? Did he want more? Do I want to say goodbye?

What if that kiss was meant to tell me 'warning, warning, DON'T END IT YOU DUMMY' and I didn't listen? So, I fretted all afternoon, evening, and night.

Then came the next morning, and the kiss completely fell off my radar.

Once I got to work, I was immediately pulled into my first strategy meeting as a participant, not a measly note taker. During the meeting, I was delegated responsibilities and instructed on going through heaps of paperwork to scrutinize every minuscule piece that could lead to something. And it consumed me. My brain suddenly adapted this new way of critical thinking, and I became obsessed. A fire lit within me, urging me to keep looking, dig deeper, find a broken link.

However, I was not expecting that I would be working so closely with Darien. I mean, I should have, right? He is the lead on this whole project. Still, I found myself mystified at just how involved he became, and not just with the delegating. He jumped in on research, studied page after page of call logs, consulted with the team like he was an associate himself.

At first, I was able to ignore his presence. I was so focused, so driven, and I wanted him to see that. I wanted Darien to know how important this opportunity was for me, and I wasn't going to waste it.

The best part? It was working. Sure, the first few days I was a little unsure of how to address everyone, since I'm not exactly a paralegal, but by week's end, I was engaged. I was showcasing my strengths enough that Darien was giving me more work every day. Clearly, he trusted me to get the job done, and it only made me hungrier. The thought of reapplying to school was getting louder in my head, and the excitement over the work I was doing kept me here all hours of the night.

It wasn't until about eleven days ago that I finally fumbled.

It was nine at night. I was so deep into a case log that I didn't even hear him come in. That was, until an innocuous white cup with a green mermaid logo was suddenly in my periphery, coupled with a scent that stirred my attention.

 _An Americano with white mocha. My favorite._

I thanked him.

And then… he smiled.

He _fucking_ smiled!

And just like that, whatever work high I was on suddenly paled in comparison to the forbidden fruit I had tasted just a week ago. The highlight reel of our time in Portland flooded my mind, from between the sheets to the time spent together in the conference room. How sexy it was to sneak around, how we exchanged flirty banter. And then that kiss. That kiss in his office! Why?! WHY did I have to say we shouldn't have a repeat?

We continued to work through the night. It was, oh, eleven, maybe midnight when we called it a night. I was jolted from my haze of packing up when I grasped the door handle and the memories flooded me once more. That kiss, that incredibly soul-shattering kiss we shared during the conference. How amazing his lips felt on mine, hands clasping at my waist, pulling me in closer. Deeper.

My heart sank as I opened the door in front of me, the hallway faintly illuminated by the glow of emergency exit signs.

Of course, our hands would graze as we both reached out for the light switch and feel those soft tingles against my skin, burning me, reminding me that _I_ said no. The worst of it, though? Neither of us – neither! – moved our hand. We just stood there, in the dark, bated breath and barely touching.

Ever since then, he has been on my mind. And not in a _knock him dead!_ kind of way, but a _I want to sit on your face_ kind of way.

Currently, we are sitting in the same conference room we've been in for the last three weeks. Documents are spread out across a twelve-foot table, categorized in neat, organized patterns. Anne is currently seated to my right at the head of the table, quietly reviewing some document. To the left is an associate named Prisma, who is going crazy with yellow highlighter at the moment. Adjacent to me is another associate named Alan, who was closely working alongside Anne. And, of course, Darien is right across from me.

Every so often, I would flit my eyes over the top of my work to look at him. How his silky black hair was styled just so, slicked back so that his bangs won't tumble in front of those dreamy eyes of his as he reads. And did I mention the reading glasses? Silver, wire brimmed, perched on the bridge of his nose, bringing a whole heap of new fantasies to the forefront of my dreams. I mean, I was never into glasses, but on him? Hell. Yes.

Clearly, I must have faded into one of my many daydreams, because when I came back to reality, I realized that those orbs of blue I was just fantasizing about were looking right at me. Embarrassed (and busted), I dart my eyes back to my own paper, but I can still feel it. I intentionally read the next few sentences of my document, but I then slowly redirect my gaze back across the table. And he's still looking at me! And SMILING! UGH! THAT SMILE! That freaking panty dropping SMILE of his!

"Darien?" the shrew's voice, I mean Anne's voice screeches, effectively ending the little game we were playing.

Darien wastes no time in turning towards her, and for a moment I wonder if he's teasing me just because he can.

"Thoughts on calling it a day? We're closing in on six-thirty."

Darien twists his wrist to glance at his watch, silver and shiny and oh so perfect for him. "Ah, so it is. Yes, let's call it a night."

"Great! Because I have tickets for tonight's—" I tune Anne out. One thing I've learned over the last few weeks was that Anne _lived_ for bragging rights. She intentionally instructed the mail room guys to bring a package delivered to her last week, not her office, but hand-deliver it to her, because it was her newest Prada bag. Then, she proceeded to open it and show us. Now, I'm not much for materialistic stuff – my bag is from Target – but I was a little envious when I saw it. That is, until I googled it and saw it was a $2,500 bag. It was literally a plain, black bag with the word 'Prada' stamped on it.

No thank you.

However, ending at 6:30 is good for me, especially since the kids were due home at 7:30 with Seiya. Honestly, I didn't realize it had gotten so late. Usually we go until 7, which leaves me just enough time to pull in to my driveway as the they do. However, tonight I can actually stop on my way home and get dinner! Meaning, no cereal for dinner tonight!

Not wasting another moment, I shove my materials into my bag and follow everyone out of the conference room, trailing behind Darien. _First a real dinner, now Darien's ass? Hell yeah!_ As coy as possible, I take a good, long look at that tight tush and file it away in my Darien bank. Damn, that man has a fine-looking ass.

I break off to my desk and grab my khaki windbreaker, power down my desktop and make my way to the exit. My mind is on auto-pilot; from the elevator, the lobby, and through the double doors of the building into the parking lot. Being mid-spring, the sun is still hanging on, but the bite in the air reminds me to put on my jacket. No; no time for the jacket – there's dinner to be bought! With an extra bounce in my step, I hurry and make my way toward my blue monstrosity.

My bags land in the passenger seat as I officially decide on a chicken salad sandwich from my favorite bakery for dinner, mechanically slipping the key into the ignition and cranking it. When the engine doesn't catch the first time, though, I try again.

However, the results are the same.

"No," I whisper, denial creeping in. No way. Not now! I turn the key once more, the dread, repetitive noise of the engine turning echoing in the cabin. "No, no, no, no!" I cry out, twisting the key harder in the ignition.

I pause for a moment, trying to think of what might be causing it. The battery? No, no the light was on when I opened the door. As a sanity check, I quickly open my door and confirm the battery was not dying out as the overhead light turns on. Plus, the battery was on the newer side; Seiya just got a new one installed last summer. I jerk the key once more, hoping the brief reprieve would give it the juice it needed, but it was no use. The mocking, echoing clicking noise persisted.

I was stranded.

I drop my head. I mean, I knew this day was coming eventually. After all, Dory was a used minivan back when we bought her in 2011. The last few years consisted of cheap fixes to keep her moving just a while longer.

I let out a deep, sad sigh. This was our first family car. The kids grew up in this car, from booster seats to being obsessed with riding in the back row. I was the Mom who helped bring friends to practice, could fit the soccer nets in the back. We traveled 147 miles to the very top of Mount Rainier. Stayed sane during the long trek out to Seiya's parents every Thanksgiving thanks to the built in DVD players. Sure, Frozen was stuck in the mechanism, but it didn't stop Elsie or Alex from occasionally turning it on every now and again.

Dejected, I yank my phone out of my bag. I grimace when I see that it's now closer to 7; Seiya would be at the house with the kids within 30 minutes. A couple of taps against my screen, I let out another sigh as the phone rings.

"Yeah?" My eyes narrow from Seiya's oddly curt reply.

"Dory died in the parking lot," I relay.

"Shit," he grumbles. "When will you be home, then?"

"Uhm," I replied, taken slightly aback. That's it? When will I be home? No concern for the fact I'm currently stranded at work? "I mean, I need to, uh, get a ride, I guess?"

"Fine."

I puff my cheeks and expel a frustrated breath. "Just – just get the kids to the house. Alex has to finish his science project, and it's at the house."

"Why didn't he bring it with him?"

"Because," I lament, "It's a diorama of the solar system, and it's large, and fragile."

"Fine," he replies for a second time. I clench my fist; where the hell was this coming from? This… this crappy, misdirected attitude?

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem."

"Uh, yeah you do. Sorry that the fucking car broke down and I'm stuck in the parking lot at work?"

Seiya snorts, and I swear I want to punch him. "Don't patronize me."

"Puh-lease, you're the one who's giving me shit. I didn't plan for the damn car to break down, Seiya!"

"No shit, Sherlock," he spats back at me. "I'll get the kids to the damn house, okay?"

"Fi—" My eyebrows snap together when I realize he has hung up on me. I pull my phone away from my and stare in disbelief. What, was I ruining his evening by asking him for help? It's not like he alluded to having plans or needing somewhere to be. Even so, he's their father! And I'm STUCK AT WORK!

I bop my forehead against the steering wheel a few times, the anger, frustration, exhaustion, and sadness rippling through my body with every contact. I turn the key one final time, holding out hope that maybe, juuuust maybe, it would work. However, I'm not surprised when the dead click follows. I yank my keys out of the ignition and stuff them in my purse.

Fucking brilliant.

I aggressively yank the door handle, not caring when the loud noise echoes in the parking lot, and slam it for good measure. I'll deal with towing Dory tomorrow. I pinch at the bridge of my nose; is it worth even dragging it to a repair shop? Pay someone $200 for them to tell me its dead as a door-nail? Or pay an extra $1,000 for a part that would allow it to run for another four, five months and delay the inevitable?

Dragging my fingers through my hair, I make my way back to the lobby of the building. _I guess I could Uber home. But who knows how long that'll take_? Lita left hours ago, so the only person I'd ask for a ride was long gone. Not wanting to delay his highness any further, I pull up the ride-share app and begin my quest to find a ride.

Taking a seat in the lobby, I stare at the roadmap, trying to decide if I should take the $20 ride 12 minutes away or the $23 ride that was 10 minutes away. Just as I hover my finger over the 10-minute option, figuring sooner was probably better for the prince of impatience, I feel a tap at my shoulder.

"Everything okay?"

My finger suspends and my eyes travel up Darien's exquisite taste in clothing to meet his quizzical expression. I am slightly surprised to see his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, clearly done for the day himself.

"No, not really," I replied with a half-frown. "My car died, so I'm calling an Uber."

"I can take you home, if you'd like," Darien immediately offers. My heart starts racing, but I am not sure if it was because of one of two things: a small, confined, private space with the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on, or that I can sit in the passenger side of the sexiest car I've ever seen (in person, that is).

"You don't have to do that," I stumble out, awkwardly tongue-tied at this point. Fortunately for me, Darien could tell that I was half-ass refusing his offer, because he gives me that grin that turns my insides to jelly.

"Come on, put your phone away," he insists as he extends his hand out. "I'd be glad to take you home. Really." With a quick nod of my head, I shove my phone into my backpack and slip my hand into his, little bursts of electricity running up my arm as I feel my skin encounter his.

"Thank you," I utter with a smile as I stand. We remain close to each other for another moment, very aware of the pounding in my ears from the proximity, before he lets go of my hand and turns towards the doorway. For a split second, I feel sadness that the moment is over, but once I exit the building, the realization of the situation hits me:

I GET TO RIDE IN HIS CAR.

ME!

SITTING IN A MASERATI!

AWWWW YEAH!

My heels click against the pavement as I follow Darien, but my eyes are focused on the sleek contours of the jet-black vehicle in the distance. I bite my lip to contain my excitement. I have always, _always_ dreamed of owning a luxurious sports car, and here I am, about to take a ride in one!

Darien rounds the front of the car and opens the passenger side door for me like a true gentleman. Instead of thanking him, though, my jaw involuntarily drops as I gawk at the interior, dripping in luxury touches I could only dream of. Cherry red leather seats, black and red accented dash with a screen built in that looked large enough to be a television… _and I get to sit in here!_ "I… I get to sit in here?" I stammer, awkwardly pointing my finger towards the inside of the car. When he nods his head followed by an adorable laugh, I nearly squeal. I slip in, relishing the feel of my skirt sliding against the leather in ease (and the complete contrast to Dory's crappy fabric seats), while clutching onto my bags. Once he closed the door, I continue my gawking of the vehicle's impeccable interior, my fingers itching to glide over every detail.

Forget candlelight dinners and walks on the beach, I am _instantly_ turned on by a sports car.

Darien materializes in the driver side, his seat positioned further back than mine to accompany for his long legs. By his knees, I noticed the start button, a concept unfamiliar to me. "Keyless?" I ask as I point in the direction of the black button. He nods in confirmation. "Cool," I quickly reply before biting my lip in anticipation.

"Ready?" he asks, a note of playfulness in his voice. I nod enthusiastically, watching like a little kid as he presses his foot against the break and pushes the start button. It's amazing how quietly the car turns over, as if it was a sleeping kitten, truly purring at the hand of its owner.

Darien extends his fingers towards the screen in his dash, commanding the computer to pull up a navigation system. "So, where am I heading?"

"I'm in Juniper, so, not too far from here," I advise him, "908 Southlake Way." His fingers tap against the screen most elegantly, finessing the touch screen. A map appears, followed by turn-by-turn instructions to my house.

I've seen navigation in cars before, but seeing my address in Darien's car makes my heart skip a beat.

Darien depresses the clutch and shifts the car in gear, and I feel a low twinge as he pulls the vehicle out of the parking spot into the lot. I intentionally cross my legs as he rounds the bend toward the exit and on to the main road, my heart beating faster as he pulls into traffic.

I can't help but keep eyes focused on Darien as he artfully maneuvers the vehicle through the busy streets of downtown Seattle. I squeeze my thighs together a little tighter as we began our descent towards suburbia, doing my best not to drool…

Because watching _Darien_ drive said sexy car is likely the biggest turn on I have _ever_ experienced.

Once we merge onto the highway, he casts a sideways glance at me and offers up another helping of those goo-inducing smiles. "So, does it meet your expectations?"

I press my lips together before breaking out into a large grin. "It's… it's amazing. It doesn't even feel like we're driving. It's almost like soaring!"

Darien chuckles as he merges into the middle lane. "Not quite an R8, but it's right up there," Darien reflects, and I feel my mouth suddenly run dry.

"You remember that?" I had brought that up at the Christmas party… the first time we had any sort of in-depth conversation. Honestly, I've always felt like an idiot about that night… how sad I was. How open I was with him. When my feelings really began blurring from a crush to a genuine, deeper interest him. And as much as I hated thinking about it, I had always wondered… did he take anything from that night? Did he… was he feeling the same way I was?

I see the faintest pink rise in his cheeks, and I am set ablaze. A wave of excitement flutters up my arms, my legs, until the butterflies land in my stomach. The grin has yet to leave my mouth, but my eyes settle on my folded hands in my lap, taking in the smooth, gentle motion of the ride.

It's quick – too quick – when we pull off the highway and into Juniper. I keep my breath as steady as possible as we make our way to my neighborhood. Despite the lack of real conversation, even just being in his presence has been amazing. Beyond amazing, actually. Not just the kind gesture of bringing me home, but _remembering_ a really random, yet oddly specific piece of information I shared that night?

Really, the ride in the sexmobile was the cherry on top at this point.

My smile slowly fades the moment we turn onto my street. Normally, the vision of my road after a long day at work is comforting; only now, it means ending this time spent together. I feel the car slow down, and I point out my home a few doors down. "With the brick front," I inform him as I note the lack of vehicle by the driveway. I quickly dismiss the thought, though, as he pulls up to the curb in front of my house.

"You have arrived at your destination," the robotic voice announces, deflating the high this drive gave me. I tilt my head towards Darien and my eyes cannot help but travel from the round muscle of his shoulder and down his firm bicep, over the roll of his sleeve to his forearm, which is resting against the top of the steering wheel. His fingers are curled into a loose fist, his thumb stroking his index finger in slow, hypnotic circles. I gently bite down on the inside of my lip as I watch his thumb, and the twinge between my legs from earlier transforms into a full-on pulse.

He turns his head towards me, and I swallow hard. We hold each other's gaze and I am lost; lost in the sea of Darien's stormy eyes. I am all too aware of my breasts rising and falling. My breath no longer steady… my lips tingling with the urge to kiss him.

I allow my knees fall towards the center console. My torso follows, then my chest, and finally my neck. He is illuminated by the street lights, cloaked in abstract shapes of soft lighting and evening shadows. My lips part slightly, but words are lost to me. All I can hear is the thumping in my ears, the steady drumming instructing me to do more. To touch him. To caress him. To taste him.

I cross my ankles the moment I see him reciprocate, his body angled closer toward me. I observe as he relocates his hands to his thighs, elbow resting on the center console, right beside mine. We are centimeters apart. I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, beckoning me to make contact. I shift my hips deliberately, forcing my arm to brush against his. The soft strands from the hair on his forearm brush against my own, and the pins and needles sensation nearly sends me over the edge.

I bite down on the inner tissue of my lip. His arm moves intentionally, closer to me, until the side of his pinky suddenly grazes against my wrist. I bite my lip harder, suppressing a moan as I relish the feel of the most subtle of contact. We continue to look at one another, his fingers slowly drifting over the top of my hand, leaving a wake of tingles in their path. My knees clench, the muscles in my thighs screaming from the dynamic resistance I'm forcing upon them.

 _Just kiss me. Kiss me now. Please!_

His fingers thread through mine, his palm nearly engulfing my hand as he shifts its position. I break eye contact, fluttering my sight to our joined hands. In a tantalizing, slow fashion, he lifts my hand, higher, higher, until I feel his breath against the bend of my fingers. At this point, my lip is being mangled by my front tooth as I desperately try to suppress lunging into his lap.

His eyelids lower, thick lashes impeding my view of his irises, and presses his lips against the curl of my fingers. A weak groan manages to escape, and I can't fight it anymore. I close my eyes and drink in the sensation of his lips against my fingers, the warmth of his hand, and especially the feeling of his thumb caressing me. He traces small circles over my fingernails, my knuckles, the sides of my finger. He kisses my fingers two, three times, before he tips my wrist. He places another gentle kiss in the space between my index finger and my thumb, and I drink in the feel of his lips against the sensitive space.

"Do you need a ride tomorrow morning?" I suddenly hear him murmur against the back of my hand, snapping me back into the semi-reality of the situation.

"If… it's not too much trouble," I stammer out, the words thick on my tongue as I attempt to regain my composure.

"I'd love to," he says again, pressing one last kiss against the back of my hand. When we disconnect, sadness washes over me; I do _not_ want to leave this car yet. But the promise of tomorrow keeps the excitement, and the heat in my core, bubbling.

"Thank you for the ride," I say in a low voice, and I mentally applaud myself for how husky it must have sounded, because when I watch his knees press against each other, I know that he _must_ be in the same state of arousal as me.

"You're welcome."

I pull at the door, the cool temperature of the spring weather doing nothing to calm the sprawling flames within me. I give Darien one last smile and stand, unmoving, as I watch the vehicle pull away. I purse my lips and let out a steadying breath, but it does nothing to calm me down.

Clasping my bag and coat, a grin splits my face as I make my way towards the house. However, the joy starts to slip as a very familiar creak echoes into the night.

My eyes immediately dart to the front screen door and I gulp – hard – as Seiya steps out onto the stoop.

And from the way he's looking at me, with his arms folded and one eyebrow raised, I feel turmoil rise within.

Either he saw something, or he's about to get a whole lot more suspicious.


	17. Chapter 16

_Happy Holiday season, everyone! I hope everyone is excited for the magic and fun that this time of year brings... I know I am!_

 _I'd ramble on more, but I'll just let you guys get to the next chapter here xD Thank you as always to Pia Bartolini for your fabulous edits!_

 _Let me know how you like it! Some shizzy is going doooooooooooooooooooooooooown :X_

* * *

I am extremely aware of the clicking sound my heels make with each step as I ascend the walkway, sharp clacks bringing me one step closer to the man on the front porch. His arms are folded. His stare is questioning. I do my best to not make eye contact with him and instead focus on the front door. But it's easy, even in this neutral look I'm attempting to pull off, to see that Seiya is about to bombard me with questions.

"Awfully fancy car for an Uber."

And it begins.

"I was able to get a ride home from a coworker," I shrug. "Uber was 20 minutes away from the office, so all things considered, I made it home earlier thanks to them."

"Uh huh." Seiya folds his arms as his eyes narrow. It's obvious what he is thinking. And I need to squash it. Now.

"Given the circumstances, I'd say 15 minutes late is pretty good," I continue. "If it wasn't for my coworker I wouldn't be here for another hour." I set my bag and jacket down on the bench by the stairwell alongside the kids backpacks, like I do every evening. "Anything of pertinent detail in these?" I ask, my transformation into Mom mode starting.

"No," he hedges awkwardly. "Coworker, you said?"

"Yup." Hoping to focus the conversation on the vehicle and not myself, I shift gears. "The car is being towed in the morning. Hopefully the repairs aren't too expensive, but it might be the final nail."

"I don't recall Lita driving that fancy of a car," Seiya points out.

 _Damn._ "It wasn't Lita; she was gone by the time I went to leave."

"Ah."

"So I'm thinking of maybe just saying ef-it and look for something on the cheaper side," I try one more time to steer the conversation off of me again. After all, Seiya usually would get frustrated at the thought of me spending money. Surely, me dropping thousands would set him off, right?

Only, for once in the entire time we've been married, it didn't.

"Why'd you stay in the car for ten minutes?"

 _Shit._

"I did not stay in the car for ten minutes." No way it was ten minutes. Was it?

"I got here five minutes before you did. Only reason I knew you pulled up was because I was helping Alex get his stuff to finish his project. Except, you didn't get out of the car." I continue to face him with a questioning stare, hoping that my puzzled look makes him realize how ridiculous he sounds.

"So, at first I'm thinking, 'maybe it's a coworker giving her some shit to do tomorrow.' And I moved on. But then I had to get something else for Alex and you _still_ were in the car." His expression morphs from questioning to accusatory. "So tell me, Sere; what were you doing in the car for so long?"

 _Shit shit shit._

I raise my eyebrows and allow my jaw to slack, hopeful that am able to pull off a look of surprise. "You do realize how ridiculous you sound right now, right?"

"Hah," Seiya snorts.

"I got a ride from my boss. He gave me instructions for tomorrow, and then offered to give me a ride tomorrow morning as well. That's all." _Except for the feel of his hand on mine._ The memory sends a shock through my palm as I recall the feel of his fingertips against the top of my hand, how those long fingers threaded mine. How they were soft –so soft.

However, now is not the time nor the place to reflect on the magic of one silly touch. After all, that's all it was – a brief, guiltless touch. No kissing. No roaming hands. So, I have nothing to feel remorseful about. Nor do I have anything I need to disclose.

And then I realize that I just told him who I was with.

 _Fuck._

Seiya isn't buying it. "Bullshit."

I snap my eyebrows together, and I can feel a twinge of anger begin to burn my cheeks. I need to get him off of my back, but how? "What I do and who I do it with is none of your concern," I challenge him with a sharp tongue. After all, who is he to question what I am doing? "That ended the day you walked out of here."

"The hell it is," Seiya scoffed, the fine line in his forehead creasing with anger. "If you're not going to be here when I drop the kids off, it damn well is my concern."

My jaw slackens once more. "What is it that you _think_ I was doing?"

Seiya runs his hands through his bangs and raises a challenging eyebrow at me. "You tell me."

"The car broke down. My boss gave me a ride home. That's all," I state. And it's true… well, for the most part.

"That's all," he repeats. "Except that you were out there for well over ten minutes, sitting in his car, doing… whatever the fuck you two were doing in there."

"That sounds like an accusation."

"Well, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…"

"Wait, wait. Let me get this straight. The car breaks down. I call _you_ first to tell you 'hey, might be stranded for a while.' My boss gives me a ride home. And you're accusing me of….what?" My voice starts to raise. "Oh, wait… I know. I know exactly what you're accusing me of. Of… of fucking around, in front of the house – while waiting for my children to come home – with my boss. Right?"

Seiya's lips remain thin-pressed, but I notice his bicep flinch from how hard he is crossing his arms. _Yup, that's exactly what he's thinking… and he does not like it._

"You're out of your fucking mind," I voice with a slight shake of my head. "Do you really think so little of me that I'd mess around with another man while waiting for you to come here with our kids?"

"You were in his _fucking car_. For well over ten minutes. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell know it doesn't take that long to get out of someone's damn car!"

I throw my hands up. "Unbelievable! You're unbelievable!"

"Call me whatever you want, but you're not exactly denying anything, are you?" he contests, and I immediately pick up on the low octave in his voice.

And I don't like it. This line of questioning, these accusations. Partially because he has _no right_ to question me.

But… also because I don't know if I'll be able to deny it with a straight face.

"Don't you fucking take that tone with me," I advise him with a grumble. I am trembling with an odd blend of emotion: anger first and foremost, but also the need to keep my secret from spilling over. He's seconds away from saying it; his hypothesis… and the truth.

"You're fucking him, aren't you?"

I clench my jaw as he speaks, desperate for a mechanism to allow me to lie to him with a straight face. Despite him being _partially_ correct, he does not deserve one ounce of knowledge of my current events. And then it hits me. Technically, I put the brakes on any sort of relationship with Darien, meaning, when I say 'no,' I'm _technically_ not. Just because it happened a month ago doesn't necessarily mean its a current event.

Yet, I seem unable to speak the damn word. I'm not built for lying…

… but I am built for twisting things in my favor.

"It's none of your concern who I am or who I am not sleeping with," I remind him once more, deflecting the question. Only it makes him angrier, evidenced by him advancing on me.

"There you go again, answering with another one of your riddles. I know you. I know you better than _anyone_ does."

"Not anymore." I retort.

"Bullshit. When the going gets tough, you answer questions with another question. Rather than being honest, you spin shit your way."

 _Damn it._ "Oh, whatever." _Shit._

"You're fucking him." It's not even a question anymore; he's challenging me with a statement.

 _Remember, not currently! So when you say no, you're not really lying!_ My mouth starts to open, ready to deny it. The delay must have been too long, though, because Seiya makes a hasty about-face. I wince as the coffee table is suddenly upheaved, magazines and paperwork flying throughout the living room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I cry, quickly assessing the mess. That poor coffee table. _First me, then him._ He remains unmoving, an intense silence taking over. He's breathing hard, his squared shoulders rising and falling hastily. I watch as his fist clenches, his arms twitching, his head hanging low. Muscle memory is attempting to pull me toward him, to comfort him and to tell him the things I know he wants to hear, that there is no need to be suspicious. But my feet remain cemented, because I know I am a damned liar.

The silence doesn't last. "No."

I blink. _No? No… what?_ "Excuse me?"

He turns around, his eyes wide with anger and hurt. The same look I saw in his eyes when the doctor told us about our loss of baby Hope. My stomach lurches slightly from the recollection, and for a moment I feel bad. We've been through so much together.

Yet, here we are.

 _Because he left. Not you. You actually wanted to fix things, remember?_

I follow his hand as his fingers wipe down his face, pulling at his skin, until they rest on the cup of his chin. He takes in a shuddering breath and releases his chin, his index finger now pointing at me. "No," he hisses, as if I am a teenager trying to sneak out, or a kid who is being reprimanded.

I purse my lips to retort that he has no say anymore, but he cuts me off. "You're _my_ wife," he says between clenched teeth, "and you're not going to be," a pause, as if he can't say the words, " _fucking_ someone else _._ "

Did he, did he just call me… his…

Wife?

I don't know if I scoff or laugh, but something ignites in me. Shock? Anger?

"You…" I feel the tears pricking at the inner corners of my eyes, but I do my best to will them back. "You not only have the audacity to claim I'm sleeping with my boss, but the _balls_ to call me your wife?" I rake my hands through my hair, my head shaking in disbelief. When the hell was the last time he called me _that?_ "Your wife." I let out a hollow laugh from the absolute insanity of this. I haven't been his wife since… since…

"That ended the day you walked out of here, you fucking asshole." I snap back, reminding him that he's the one who ended this relationship, not me. That he walked out, got his own place, and began this whole new life.

My vision flutters back to the coffee table, upside down, legs sticking in the air, when it hits me. Weeks after he left, when he picked up the kids. How he walked in here, looking good, smelling good, and that fucking mark on his neck? I swallow hard, doing my best to will away the clenched feeling of my throat from trying not to cry from the hypocrisy of it all.

"You really think I don't know?"

"Know what?" he sneers.

 _Of course. Of course he's going to deny it._ "You really think I didn't notice that a week after you left you had a fucking hickey on your neck?"

"Oh bullshi—"

"Don't you dare," I cut off. "Don't you dare try and tell me I'm wrong." His mouth opens and closes briefly, but he doesn't deny it. "Do you have _any idea_ what that felt like? You _left_ me _._ Damn it, I knew we were having problems, but you didn't even want to try to fix it! And then you walk in here and I have to see that? And you're the one calling me out?! For something that you made up in your head over a damn RIDE HOME," I cry out, tears streaming down my face.

And then the realization hits me. So quick he was to accuse me, to finger point. Is it because… because…

"For you to have one of those, you… you had to have been cheating on me," I laugh bitterly at my epiphany.

"Seren—"

"Right?"

I watch intently as he shifts his posture, his once squared shoulders now dropping. It's hard to miss the anger that once covered his face quickly be replaced by alarm.

And I don't need to hear any more.

"Get out."

"Sere-"

"I said get the fuck out of here. Now." My throat is clenching, my stomach twisting into a knot. I press my lips together, my teeth trembling as I fight against the whirlwind emotions of that ultimate betrayal. I point my finger at the front door. "Go!" I finally muster, anger and hurt and disbelief that he, Seiya Kou, the father of my children, fucking _cheated on me during our marriage_. It all makes sense. It all makes perfect fucking sense now.

The distance.

The arguments.

The lack of communication.

The forced intimacy.

Because… because… _he was cheating on me._

I am only able to tell he has left because I hear the door slam shut. When I finally blink, my angry tears become sobs. I am distantly aware of pain in my palms with how hard I am clenching them, but the tightening in my chest overshadows it immediately.

"Shit!" I finally choke out to the empty room, my hand muffling any further noise. How long? How long was this going on? Months? Years? Was it one woman, two? More? Is that why he was so quick to just end it, rather than try and fix it? Is he still with her now? Is he… is he… going to her now?

I let the tears continue to slip down my face, my mind a jumbled mess. All I can focus on is the last few months of our marriage, and how it all makes sense now. With each flash of a memory the pain intensifies, the dots connecting more and more. How he didn't even look at me when we were at my Christmas party. When he yelled at me when I got my hair done. The clothing and television left on during our reserved days for sex. The fact we had to keep a reserved day… period.

The urge to fall to the floor is overwhelming, but I will myself to drop my head in my hands and wipe at my eyes instead. The irony is not lost on me; the whole argument began with him accusing me.

I mean, sure; I had my fantasies. And that almost-encounter at Christmas when I was practically dumped by him at my party. But I never, ever, once strayed from him during our marriage. I never cheated on him. I didn't even begin anything with Darien until after our separation pages were legally filed.

Separation papers. I inwardly scoff at the idea of separation papers. _I'm sure he only requested that so he could make sure the grass really was greener._ I bite at my thumbnail and consider that paperwork, only to stun myself with another theory. _He probably wanted to make sure the door was kept open so he could come back if it didn't work out!_

I wipe my hands down my face and groan. That _had_ to be it! Well, if he thought there was ever, _ever_ a chance he could come back, that door is closed now, buddy! Not now, not _ever._

I take in a deep breath to calm the churning of my stomach. It hurts. It _fucking_ hurts. Darien, my career, the direction I'm going in… it doesn't seem to matter. Not right at this moment, anyway. Because not only did I fail in my marriage, but I failed to keep my husband faithful. I failed as a wife in more ways than one.

And that… that is the only thing I can focus on.

A fresh set of tears brim my eyes, but I blink them away once more. I know the kids are going to come downstairs at some point; it's only 8:00 after all. Once I'm in bed, I'll let it all out. I'll let it all out and move on. Because, I am better than this. Knock me down, I get back up again. I am… I am… stronger than this. I won't let my husband cheating get to me. I am in control of my emotions. I… am…

My face scrunches up as a sob escapes. _Shit!_ Tears drip down my face, and the will to stop them suddenly ends.

 _What did I do so wrong? Why did I fail? Why?_

#

I don't think I've ever been so thankful for my kids' electronics up until today.

Once I wallowed for twenty, thirty minutes, I went upstairs to check out what was going on. Alex was in his room, those damn airpods in his ears, dabbing orange and yellow paint onto a giant Styrofoam ball. Elsie was on her bed, laying on her stomach, earphones plugged into her laptop while clearly watching something. Meaning, they didn't hear the fight, nor the tears that followed.

Thank. Goodness.

I bring the comforter closer to my chin as I struggle to settle the emotions. Emotions I didn't think I'd be so throttled by. I mean, I felt like I was moving on. _Feel_ like I'm moving on. So why am I so thwarted right now? Why does this hurt so much worse than I ever could have imagined?

I mean, Seiya's gone. He's been gone, moved out. Has a whole different life separate from me.

And me. What about me? I've started something new with someone else. Developed feelings for someone; feelings I haven't quite figured out yet. But now I can't help but wonder, do my feelings for Darien mean less than I thought if I'm so overcome by Seiya's revelation? Is it just attraction? Something more?

All of this thinking is mentally draining, yet I can't seem to fall asleep. I am tossing and turning both figuratively and literally, unable to settle my body or mind. I want answers. I want to know when. With who. The why. But I also don't want to know. I want to stay naïve. Maybe it'll hurt more if I learn more about it. Or maybe it'll hurt less? I don't know.

But to think… that he left me for someone else…

I can't even finish the thought without a lone tear escaping. It was already bad enough he is the one who brought up separating originally, but to cite more than 'irreconcilable differences' makes my stomach lurch. And that's what I can't get past. To know that he would lay here, in this bed, next to me after laying with someone else. That he would still have sex with me, albeit lacking any sort of passion, after being with another woman. That time he should have been spending with me, or the kids, or us as a family, was spent in the arms of another woman.

What drove him to do this? Was she a student? A colleague?

The fucking babysitter?

I groan as I roll face-first into my pillow, followed by a thrashing of my fists into the mattress beneath. Worst-case is on overdrive right now, thinking about the babysitter being the new woman in his life. She's not even nineteen! And to bring her into the house under the pretense of 'watching our kids' would be beyond trashy! And disgusting! And downright disrespectful!

I turn onto my side and bring my knees in towards my stomach. I can't imagine Kakyuu being that cold. But… if she's in love with him, maybe she would? A desperate attempt to be near him as often as possible? Even under the pretense of a babysitter?

Only, it was me who would usually relieve her, not Seiya. It wasn't until recently with him being gone and out of the house that he had contact with her and our kids. So, perhaps it isn't her. Logistically, it doesn't make sense.

Unless, she's trying to befriend my children so when Seiya starts bringing her around they're comfortable with her and happy with her?

I take my other pillow and throw it over my head in attempt to muffle my frustrations out more. All these questions are making my head spin. All these theories, these crazy scenarios in my head.

How am I supposed to sleep?

I am about to throw the pillow into the wall when I feel the weight shift in my bed. Quickly tossing it off to the side, I turn my head to see who is crawling into bed with me, and I am stunned to see that it is Alex slipping underneath the covers. He scoots towards the middle of the mattress until his forehead touches my bicep, then closes his eyes, as if he does this regularly.

Except that I can't remember the last time he crawled in my bed. Three years ago? Four?

"Everything okay, bud?" I whisper, only to hear silence in return. Deciding not to waste a rare moment alone with my son, I close my eyes. Maybe being forced to calm myself down for the sake of my son's sleep will help me. But it doesn't last; once again, I feel the weight of my bed shift again. Elsie slips her petite frame into my bed, and I watch as she makes her way close to Alex. She, too, closes her eyes, and soon the sound of gentle, rhythmic breathing fills my room.

A strange calm washes over me.

Questions, sure. Did they hear what happened, or see me upset? Surely, one, or both they must have heard. Which also means that they distracted themselves during the whole ordeal as well.

And I could, at this time, choose to panic. To think about the wrongdoings. To think about the sadness, or the hurt, or the pain that they might be experiencing as well. Instead, though, as I take in the melody of their breathing, drink in the setting of my children being here with me. Next to me. Supporting me emotionally more than I ever thought I would have needed. That their presence – their unprompted, unrequested presence – is exactly what I need at this moment.

No more questions. No more scenarios.

Because even though Seiya is gone, doing whatever he's doing, being with whoever he's with…

I get the best part of him every single day.

And that, I will never, ever regret.


	18. Chapter 17

A/N: Happy 2020 everyone! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews you guys left - your comments always make me smile!

While not necessarily a dramatic chapter, I hope you enjoy this update. What blows my mind is after this chapter, I see two, maybe three more chapters left of this story. Which is crazy! I can't believe it's coming towards the end.

With that said, I want to give a huge shout-out to the best Beta ever - Pia Bartolini - for turning this chapter around ridiculously quick.

I hope you all enjoy!

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Chapter 17

I don't think I've ever been so focused in my life. Not even studying for the LSATs could compare to the amount of concentration that I was pouring into this. It wasn't until the distinct scent of stale coffee wafted into my nostrils that I realized I forgot to even drink it. That's how focused I've been.

It has been two weeks. Two weeks since the afterboom, as I like to call it. Two weeks since the kids refused to see Seiya. Two weeks of 'I'm sorry' voicemails.

Two weeks of working with an attorney to draft my divorce petition.

That's the beauty of working in a law firm; contacts. All I had to do was go to Katzie Prescott, the 'ex-husband slaughterer' as they affectionately call her, and tell her what happened. And boy oh boy was she happy to do me this kind of favor, especially since she owed me one or one thousand Starbucks runs over the last ten years or so.

My grief morphed rather quickly into anger once everything came into fruition. And by fruition I mean some light Facebook "stalking" that brought a whole new perspective. And by "light" I mean actually logging into his Facebook, since he never logged out of the family computer.

Stupid idiot asshole.

Sure, it had been a few years since I logged on to the site (I'm more of a Twitter girl myself), but I wasn't so far removed that I didn't know to check his messages first and foremost. His wall wouldn't have any incriminating evidence on it (was it still called a wall?) with his family and friends on there. That, and with his job, I bet that thing would be locked air-tight with tags.

But not the messages.

Oh, he most certainly did not think about the messenger.

Nyanko Suzu.

Some 19 year old trying to look like a fucking cat with her jet black hair in pointy buns and her obnoxiously thick eyeliner was sexting him. Boobs. Boobs. More boobs. Wet t-shirt boobs. Abundant cleavage boobs.

Pierced nipple boobs.

I thought my mouse was going to break as I scrolled through endless tit pics, chronicling months and months of "waiting 4 u" and "cum on over baby" lines filtered in between. And _of course_ he responded to all of them. Of COURSE he responded. Things like "baby you make me so hot" and "I'll be right there" that made me want to vomit. Because these replies weren't just recent. No.

They were at least ten months old. And we were separated, officially, for only four months.

It was the perfect motivation to continue to discuss everything with Katzie. Splitting the assets. The custody arrangement. Child support. Our money. Our mortgage. Our 401ks and the fucking Christmas Club. The alimony that I was sure as hell going to be receiving.

And I had the titties and the timestamps that were going to back everything up.

Vindictive?

Not in the least.

I'm disgusted. I'm furious. Furious at him, furious with the hussy, but also mad at myself. I knew things were bad, but how was I so naïve that I couldn't see it was _this_ bad? All those gym visits? It's not like he was sticking to some sort of workout regimen, given the dad-bod he was rocking. And all those times he would get so pissy if he didn't have a buffer to go out after work? Plus, the sudden need to hire a sitter to cart our children around rather than step up and be a father?

Disgusting.

What's worse, the kids definitely heard everything. _Everything_. Because when Seiya came to pick them up two weeks ago on his designated day, Elsie lost it. Absolutely lost it. If I didn't have visions of pierced nipples dancing around me, I might have felt bad at the look on Seiya's face. I've never seen Elsie so furious before, demanding her father to tell her why we weren't good enough. Why wasn't Mom good enough? At first, it was satisfying to not only see, but hear, after being the villain for too long…

But the moment she started crying, asking what she did so wrong, it all came crashing down.

Seiya retreated, and rightfully so, when she screamed at him to leave. And I immediately wrapped my arms around my sobbing baby girl, telling her over and over again that she did absolutely nothing wrong.

 _"You only got married because you got pregnant with me. It IS all my fault."_

…and that has absolutely haunted me since those words left her lips.

It didn't matter what I said to her; she wouldn't listen to me. I know for a fact that Seiya and I never once discussed that we only got married because I was pregnant. Hell, we never even mentioned she was a surprise. At least, never in front of her. And what makes me sick to my stomach; was she picking up on our conversations for a while now? Was she piecing things together, like my dropping out of school or the timing of our wedding? I mean, I did have a pretty discreet wedding dress so those questions wouldn't even come up until she was old enough, and even then I think I would have gone to the grave not telling her.

Did she hear it from someone else? Has Seiya been saying stuff to people when the kids have been around? Because I sure as hell have not been.

My baby. My poor baby.

And Alex? He hasn't left my bed. He has been sleeping in there every single night. I don't know if it's this need to protect me, or he's the 'man of the house,' or even it's because he needs _me_ , but he starts off in his room, and treks in to mine around 12:00 like clockwork. Not that him coming into my room is particularly a bad thing, but to top it all off, he's also doing things around the house… cooking, especially. I love the help, I really do. I just fear it's because he feels this need to have to step into a bigger role. A nine year old shouldn't feel like he needs to cook dinner. Or shovel the driveway. Or vacuum the stairway. As his Mom, that's my responsibility. That shouldn't all fall on him. Some things, like helping put away dishes, or cleaning off the table when we're done eating, and concentrating on his homework… that's a nine-year-old's duty. Not dinner every night. Not having to step up like that.

So when I'm not angry, I'm hurting for my children. They don't deserve any of this; they didn't ask to be a part of a failing marriage. So, I decided to just pull the trigger and not even bother staying separated. What was the point? There was no way I was taking him back. Hell would have to freeze over for me to even consider that.

Of course, all of this happened right as my work life was starting to go in such a good direction. The project I was on, doing all of that research; it was one of the best times in my career. So, go figure it was done three days post-confession, and I've been back at my regular duties for a bit now. Unfortunately, because this job is so second nature to me, I find myself allowing the drama at home to distract me. So the moment a task comes my way, I give it my complete attention. I don't chat with anyone, I barely leave my desk to grab coffee, let alone lunch. I feel myself withdrawing from everyone, but I just can't… deal, I guess, right now. Deal with anything.

I'm so… overwhelmed.

I know I'm doing the right thing, absolutely. I just know that everyone in my house is hurting.

Elsie for thinking it's her fault.

Alex for feeling this need to replace Seiya's presence.

Myself for… so much.

I know that I can't go back to school. Not now. Not with everything. My children… they need me, not this half shell of me with my head focused on school and not their own struggles. Especially now, and more importantly at this vulnerable age of theirs. If I were to vanish like that, at night school, every weeknight and study groups and weekend research? I… I can't do that to them.

And it hurts. It hurts _more_ than losing Seiya. Because again, my dream has been put on hold. Likely indefinitely. It was a nice taste, working alongside everyone, pretending to be a real asset. But I just have to face the facts: it's not possible.

Not now.

I can feel it, the buildup in the back of my throat. No; no, I am not going to cry again. I am stronger than this, and I will get through this. Everything will be alright in the end. My kids, myself, we will bounce back from this.

"Hey, Serena?" I look up to see Lita holding an unfolded piece of paper. Her eyes are soft and knowing; so I'm glad when she makes it quick. "This was delivered to me by mistake; Darien needs to sign off."

"Okay, I'll see right to it; thanks."

"No problem. Let me know if you need anything, 'kay?" She gives me a reassuring smile as she walks off, allowing me to glance at the paperwork. Yup, a sign off for a disbursement check to be cut. That's definitely Darien's client, too.

 _Sigh._

I've been avoiding him.

Not like I want to. I just… that car ride, sitting with him, being with him for however long I was in there. All I can think about is how that ignited everything that's now going wrong. And it's not his fault; I know that. It's my fault. Mine; for falling for someone I shouldn't even have fallen for. For stealing a moment too long with him in front of my house.

For wanting to cry to him. To call him that evening. To dispel everything and share it with him.

But… that would have been weird, right? To tell him that stuff? I mean, we're not really anything besides two people who fucked one weekend. Even though I know that's not really the fact of the matter, technically it is the truth. We haven't gone out on a date. We don't text, or talk, or do anything. We've had moments. Or looks. But nothing beyond that. So to go to him and belt out my sorrows over my children and my ex-husband and pierced nipples? How would that look? It'd be weird, right?

I chew at my lip. It would figure, of course, that all of this hasn't changed _anything_ about how I feel about him. In fact, it's made me want so much more. But I… I don't know how to ask for it. Our dialogue… it's… not the best. It's not open, or comfortable, and I get it. There's this stigma with the secrecy of what we've done.

So I continue to avoid him the best I can, because I know the moment I open my mouth and discuss anything outside of work, I'm going to come unglued.

I look down at the form that needs his signature, cursing that I need to go face him.

 _Just get in and get out._

#

She's distant.

No, distant does not quite define it; she's in a whole different state of mind. She is on top of everything; churning out task after task. She surpasses every deadline thrown at her, and with impeccable accuracy.

And that is precisely what is concerning me.

She won't leave for lunch. She'll barely walk away from her desk, unless it's to attend a meeting. I don't know if it is because our project wrapped up and she was placed back on her secretarial duties, or if it is something else entirely. I would understand completely if she felt she needed to 'prove herself,' so to speak, that she can handle a continued increased workload. And if that is the case, if she doesn't stop soon, she's going to burn out fast.

But... I have a nagging suspicion that it's something else entirely.

Serena has pulled away completely. Not like we were, well, together, but there's been chemistry. Obvious chemistry. To say that I don't think about her would be a lie, because she's on my mind all the damn time. Her smile, her laugh, the way her hair falls down her back in those gorgeous, rich golden hues... the way it felt in my hands when we slept together in Portland. How good, how wrong, and _so damn right_ it felt to be with her in that room.

It's been so hard keeping my distance from her, acting like her superior, when in fact I want to fall to my knees and beg. Beg her for another moment of her time, to be alone with her, to feel her against me again. To hold her and satisfy her, to see that look on her face... the one when I slip into her and her lips part just enough to utter a soft mewl.

She's a temptress; constantly invading my mind when she passes by my office. I try my hardest to not think of her in any way aside from my legal assistant, but when she walks in and I get a whiff of that perfume that smells like roses, I am undone.

I sigh and drop my glasses on my paperwork, pinching my index finger and thumb against the bridge of my nose. I'm drowning with curiosity to know what the hell is going on. One moment we're hot and heavy, the next we're doing nothing, then there's these moments, and then absolutely nothing. Did she get back with her husband? Did she meet someone she could be in an actual relationship with? It's no secret that if we were to even think about being together one of us would have to leave our position; sneaking around has a way of coming out.

I circle back to my first thought. What if she did get back with her husband? After all, she did say she was only separated from him, not actually divorced. Separation leaves the door open for a return. Maybe they worked out their issues? Then again, I don't know how you necessarily work out being a dick and abandoning your wife at a fucking Christmas party, but, hey, to each their own. Again, we weren't exactly in a relationship or anything. And he was her husband. Is her husband?

This is exactly why I went straight for the divorce when I split from Setsuna – close the chapter and burn the book. We both walked away unscathed, minus my pride taking a hit from failing at my marriage. I wasn't ready for children and I was not going to be pushed into having them. Deal breakers happen all the time in marriage.

Not that we're on bad terms, either. She started the family she so badly wanted with her new husband, and I have my independence. And my car.

I'm so glad we didn't have kids and split; that would be ugly. It's always ugly once kids are involved.

And then it hits me – Kids. Serena has kids. Two kids. And here I am, straight up pining for someone who has children. I let out a snort; what a strange twist of irony.

Yet, I remain unaffected, even with this fleeting revelation, because I want her. I want her so damn badly that I could care less that she has children. Older children are easier than babies I am sure.

I drop my head into my palm and dig at my eyes.

What the hell am I doing? She's making it perfectly clear that she's unavailable.

Right? Yes? No? Maybe?

 _Sigh._

A sudden shuffling of papers triggers my attention, the temptress of my mind standing in front of my desk. She's wearing a red blouse and black skirt, hugging the curves I've been longing for. Her hair is resting against her breast in these loose, captivating curls, and I'm struggling to look away.

In what I hope was quicker than it felt, I look up at that perfect face of hers. She's looking at me with those gorgeous eyes, but… something is not right. At all. They're devoid of emotion.

"Can you please sign off on these?" she asks in a neutral voice, mechanically handing me the paperwork as she finishes her request. I nod and accept the documents from her, her hand falling by her side instantaneously. I look down at the requisition forms and quickly scribble my name on them, not really focusing on the content. Just as I begin to write the date, though, I can't help but let the question slip.

"Is everything okay?"

I tilt my head as I look up at her, and the swallow she takes is extremely noticeable. She nods, but doesn't follow up with verbal confirmation.

"Are you sure? You can tell me if anything is bothering you, you know?"

She nods again, but her lips remain unmoving. Not even the smallest of smiles forms at the corners. I drop my pen and let out a soft sigh before picking the papers back up. They linger in my hand for a moment as I debate prying just once more, to let her know I can obviously tell something is bugging her, but forgo it. I extend my arm with the papers, but a knock startles us both out of the menial task.

"Serena?" I look to my doorframe to discover Katzie Prescott bursting through, practically shoving a manilla envelope into Serena's hands. "Sorry, running late to a meeting. Take a look and sign where flagged. Let me know if you have questions. Oh, hi and bye, Darien," she politely adds.

Serena smiles, but it's fake. So obviously fake. She nods her head and returns a quiet thanks to Katzie, who breezes out of my office without missing a beat. Serena's head drops as she takes a long, silent look at the envelope, and it all clicks.

 _Divorce papers._

Serena remains silent for a moment longer before she lets out an odd laugh and shakes the content in her grip. Her laugh is definitely not one of sadness, which makes me second guess my original conclusion, but it's not necessarily a happy one, either.

"At least now that's done," she mutters before turning back to me. Her eyes glance to my hand, where I'm still holding onto the papers she needs, communicating to me clearly that she's not going to digress. And despite my questioning stare, my shoulders leaning forward and ready for her to tell me anything, anything at all, I surrender and hand off the paperwork.

She replies with a quick "thank you" before walking out the door, a hasty exit. I drop my head into my propped up arm and scratch at my head. I'm at a total loss of what to do here. Now, going forward… I have never been so fucking confused before.

I mean, we don't really talk. We've talked at work, and we've had our moments here and there, but there hasn't ever really been this chatty relationship with us. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I get too far up my own ass about boundaries. Well, not _too_ far up, clearly, because I slept with her. And that's another thing. Clearly there was mutual interest. How does that just disappear? I mean, there was so much more than trading looks across the table at all of those meetings. The subtle foot touches, or the times she'd be next to me, cross her legs, and rest her calf to where it was barely brushing up against me? Yeah. So, it wasn't like it just suddenly disappeared. There's no way.

And not to mention, we did have fun that night we went out to dinner. That one night… months ago.

I wince. _Ok, that's bad._

Have I done anything for her? Anything that isn't… because of work?

 _Nope._

I slouch back in my chair and ponder my revelation. Could that be it? She's distancing herself because she doesn't feel like I care about her? I mean, it's a plausible thought. I could up the charm a bit more, maybe? I just need to do it in a discrete way is all.

No, no that can't be the only thing. The envelope. The hypothetical papers. Maybe that's what's causing this. I mean, she was only separated. Jumping from filing separation papers to divorce papers in, what, six months? That's really quick.

Something had to have happened.

Quietly, I get out of my chair and make my way towards my bookshelf, but not before stealing a glance out at her desk. Serena's bangs effectively cover her eyes, but she's definitely reading something. And thoroughly. Suddenly her hand lifts, fingers running through her hair and I am able to catch a glimpse of snapped eyebrows. Just as the hand falls back down, I watch her other arm scribble ferociously, followed by a slamming of the writing utensil.

I quickly snap my head back toward my bookshelf, pull out a random book and open it, but I can see in my periphery Serena stuffing the distinct blue and white papers into an envelope. As soon as the rustling stops, she's like the wind, billowing out of her cube and is off down the hallway in a rush.

Ok, so, maybe it wasn't me.

Now, more than ever, I feel like I need to do something for her. One, because it doesn't matter where your mind is – divorce is rough at any stage, and two, because she's officially getting divorced.

And I'll be damned if I let her slip away.


	19. Chapter 18

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I appreciate that on this day you took a moment to read this update. I don't think you'll be disappointed!

I am excited that I was able to get this chapter out quicker than I've been as of late. And, I already have 98% of the next chapter completed! It is official: the next chapter is the final chapter of this story. But I'll gush more in the next update XD

As always, THANK YOU to my friend and beta Pia Bartolini for going through this and making great edits and suggestions. You rock!

I hope you all enjoy!

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Chapter 18

 _"_ _Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for - in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so that you can afford to live in it._

 _—_ _Ellen Goodman_

#

"First up on the agenda… Darien would like to propose a candidate for our continuing education program. Darien, the floor is yours."

"Thanks, Ed." I look around the ornate table, twenty familiar sets of eyes staring back at me with questions. Not that it bothers me; I was a prosecutor prior to beginning my own firm. This time, though, feels a little different. Not just because these people get to decide on if this proposal goes through, but it's because I'm fighting for someone who means something to me. Which means, I have to be as discreet as possible. Seated at the head of the table is the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Demande Wilford – Ed for short – and his glass of red wine. I always find it peculiar that during Board meetings Ed has to have a glass of wine, but then again I can't imagine him without one. When I was growing up and Ed visited my father's house, Dad would have a glass ready for him.

But I digress.

"Sir, members, I would like to propose a candidate for our continuing education program as well as a proposal for a revision to the CE grant."

"Let's start with the nomination. Who do you have in mind?"

 _Now or never._ " Serena Kou, sir."

A few murmurs make their way around the table, but Ed is staring at me with utter confusion. "Serena Kou? Damien's old secretary?"

I do my best to let the dated term 'secretary' slide off my back and focus. "Yes, sir. Serena has been my _assistant_ now for almost a year and, Sir, she's not meant to be in this role. She is much smarter than the position she is in."

Ed's face is still perplexed. "That's great and all, but if she's as smart as you claim, wouldn't she _be_ in a better position? Put in for a promotion, or attend school to move up in the firm?"

 _Remember, remain discreet._ "Yes and no. She was in school; Seattle University, in fact, for law school. She attended WSU prior to Seattle for her bachelors in Political Science with a specialization track of pre-law. She's very well educated, Sir. I've assigned her to different tasks beyond her position and she's performed exceptionally."

"I have to agree with Darien." I look over to John Dowers, who nods his head at me once we make eye contact. "Her skillset is beyond any administrative employee here. She processes our depositions better than our entry-level staff do."

"That, and she takes the initiative to help us. For example, PharmaMed; she read the deposition once and discovered that the claimant was submitting false information." I pause for dramatic effect and hold up my index finger. "Once. And, she did this of her own free will. We also assigned her temporarily to assist with the NorthShore project, which she was more focused than some of our junior attorneys I daresay."

Ed has relaxed a bit more in his chair, head tilted slightly to the side as he listens to my case. I continue to list the work Serena did for my father, the level of experience she displays, and the passion she has for working here. I can see everyone around the table nodding in agreement, and I know that I have them on my side.

"I would like to propose," I add, "we offer her a paid position for her duration in law school that matches her current salary, with a guaranteed position once she completes school, pending acceptance to University."

Ed immediately pops back up, his eyes wide. "You want to _what?"_

"I think the investment is well worth it. We spend more on bottles of wine at Christmas, with all due respect," I propose. "She already has her undergrad. I suggest that we should have her sign a contract accepting employment here following graduation, and we can forgo the signing bonus to apply to her tuition. Serena already knows the company, the operations, and our clients. She's going to be an asset, Sir, not a cost."

"I agree with Darien." I look down the table to see Anne nodding in agreement, which briefly stuns me. I was convinced she did not like Serena at all, given the looks she tossed her way during the NorthShore project. "She's a very talented professional and I think she is worth investing in."

"I agree, too," John states. "She deserves the opportunity."

A murmur of agreement rolls around the room, and I do my best to retain my enthusiasm. However, my heart is beating excitedly at the thought of this actually happening. I want to do this for her so badly, not only because I think Serena deserves it, but because I _know_ she can do it. I don't even know half of the sacrifices she has made in her personal life, but I suspect it's quite a bit. It's obvious that pursuing law is something she is passionate about and had to put on hold.

I've been wracking my brain for days, trying to think of something I could that would cheer her up. Only, my mind was blank. Flowers and candy didn't seem big enough. No; it needed to be something that was impactful. Something I know she wants more than any truffle or daisy could offer.

 _This_ is something I can do for her.

I look over to Ed, who is swirling his glass of wine once again, his eyebrows snapped together in thought. He looks out at the table, his stare shifting around the room as he looks at the members around the room.

"Okay," he eventually states.

I feel my mouth begin to stretch into a smile, but I clear my throat to retain my excitement. "Thank you, Sir. May I present the opportunity to her?"

When he gives a final head nod, I finally allow myself to relax into my seat. The conversation moves on to the next topic on the agenda – billable hours – and I turn my head towards the projector screen to review the cost and gross margins for the past quarter. Inside, though, I haven't been this excited in a long time. To give someone as deserving as her an opportunity like this?

I can't wait to see her reaction tomorrow.

#

"Serena, can you come in here, please?"

I cease reviewing the document in front of me and lift my head up and in the direction of Darien's office. Mechanically, I reach for my notebook and pen, ready to jot down whatever request he has, but I can't help but feel butterflies in my stomach. And I hate it, so, _so_ much, because I'm still avoiding this beautiful man despite every single fiber of my body not wanting to.

I think he knows. He must, right? That I'm avoiding him?

 _Why does his voice make my heart pound?_

"Coming!" I call out in the direction of Darien's office the moment I realize I haven't moved out of my chair. I do my best to squash the self-inflicted unease I feel each time I go into his office, because staying away from him is starting to physically _hurt_. Being so close to him, yet not being able to touch him? I… I don't know how much longer I can go on like this.

Which is crazy, because just a few weeks ago, my head was a jumbled mess. Between the discovery of Seiya's reason for leaving and the kids turning on him, my world turned upside down. But now that the dust has settled a bit, I find myself yearning _more_ for him. And not just physically. I mean, I want him physically more than ever, but… I want to see him look at me. Smile at me. Anything. Anything at all!

And it's _me_ who is not letting him! Because I keep avoiding the guy!

 _AUGH._

I plant my heels into the ground and lift out of my seat, my heart thumping with each step I take toward his office. My nose is tickled by the woody scent of his workspace, which does nothing to dispel my nerves.

"Can you close the door?"

And now my nerves _really_ are on fire.

I nod slowly and gently close the door behind me, my mind now spinning. Why close the door? Is there a problem? Shit, he _really_ must have realized I'm avoiding him. And assistants _don't_ avoid their bosses. It's kind of their freakin ' job to be there! _Shit! Shit, shit, shit!_

The moment the door latches, I turn back at him with a wary expression. "Is everything okay?" I hesitantly ask. His expression is hard to read; I can't tell if he is calm or serious right now. All I can see is those damn majestic blue eyes looking at me, and I want to drown in them more than anything. Ugh, _why_ won't I let myself fall into those pools of rich, inky goodness?!

"Sit, please," he offers with a simple hand gesture, and I am now shifting into worry. Sit?

 _I'm not being fired, am I?_

"I'm not being fired, am I?"

When Darien's eyes widen in obvious surprise, I feel myself relax for the first time. "No, not at all," he is quick to reassure with an added head shake, and I let out a breath of relief.

"Okay then," I laugh nervously before taking a seat in front of his desk. I place my notebook on his desk and flip open to the next blank page, ready for instruction.

"I want to talk to you," he states, and I pick up on the change in his tone of voice. There's concern laced throughout his velvety voice, but I am not sure if it's employer-level concern or friend-quasi-lover-level.

"About what?" I straighten my back and shoulders a bit in an effort to show him there's nothing wrong with me, but the look he gives me is knowing. Too knowing for someone who doesn't know me that well.

His shoulders relax. "Are you okay?"

"Yep." I wince; _you replied way too quickly._ When he tilts his head in the opposite direction, I know he's calling me on my BS. "Honestly, everything's fine."

Darien's expression remains, but I hold my tongue. He doesn't need to be burdened with my bullshit. He must realize I won't divulge, because he finally shifts his glare away from me and to a folder instead. His beautiful hands clasp on to the file and places it in between us, and my curiosity is now awakened. When he flips it open, I try to decipher the paperwork.

And it's official paperwork from the firm.

"Are you sure I'm not being fired?" I ask again in a higher octave; why else would I be receiving some sort of letterhead paperwork from Darien of all people?

He smiles one of those delicate, soul-soothing smiles that reminds me of honey drizzling onto a biscuit, and I let the fear of termination evaporate completely.

"I want to present an opportunity to you," he states as he lifts the paperwork out of the folder. His arm extends over his desk and towards me, and sure enough, my name is in the address block of this official letter.

"An opportunity?"

"Yes. You were nominated and unanimously selected for our continuing education program."

I freeze. "I've… been… what?"

Darien extends the document over his desk and into my awaiting hands. "The firm is offering to pay for you to pursue your JD," he repeats.

My hands are shaking as I grasp the document, the offer spelled out in black and white. W&S is offering me – _me_ – to return to school? How? Why? Why me?

"Why me?" I whisper as I study the document, completely baffled.

"Because you have proven yourself time after time, Serena," Darien replies immediately. "Between the depositions you write, the research your pour yourself into, the quality of work and obvious level of knowledge you possess, it would be foolish for us to hold you back any longer."

Darien begins to elaborate the details of offer, but all I can hear is a ringing in my ear. It's growing louder and louder, and with the ringing comes a burning sensation in my chest. It's threatening to consume me, ready to burst any second. This offer, this _dream_ offer…

and I can't accept it.

"Thank you, but I must decline."

Darien immediately stops speaking, and the look on his face is pure shock. Which does _not_ help the pain in my chest lessen at all.

"Decline?" he repeats back to me, and I woefully nod.

"I… I can't. But, thank you, for the offer. I'm happy with my current position." I swallow down the lump in the back of my throat, because I know that I am a _fucking liar_ right now. I have to tear my eyes away from Darien, because his expression is about to _break_ me. He knows I am lying. He knows I am completely full of shit right now. But I can't leave this position. I can't go to school. I can't balance school, work, children, pay the bills, get them to soccer and if I work and go to school. I can't. It's just me now. I _can't._

"Why not?" he eventually asks, and I feel myself die a little bit inside when I muster together a painfully plausible excuse.

"I need the set hours for my children. School… and work… I can't balance that." I mean, it's an honest excuse, despite how harrowing it is. But it's my reality, unfortunately. My new reality. Hell, it's not even a new reality… even when Seiya was around, this was and _is_ my reality. I am subservient to the routine of everyone around me, which is probably why I am so damn good at being an assistant. I am a master at catering to everyone's needs.

 _Everyone except my own._

Darien becomes quiet. He steeples his index fingers together and presses them against the smooth point of his chin, before pointing them at me. "I don't believe you."

I purse my lips, slightly taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Darien's eyes catch mine. "I don't believe you."

"It's true. I have kids."

"I know. But, I also know that you want this."

 _More than anything._ I break eye contact and shake my head. "No, I don't." _Because I can't. I just can't. I can't go through this again._

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this opportunity," Darien challenges me. "Because from the times that we have spent together, you have mentioned law school time and time again. And I can see it; I see it in the way you perform here and in the way you take initiative. You were _meant_ to do this, Serena. Let me help you."

I force my eyes to remain cast downward, because I know the second I look up at him, it's all over. My credibility. My integrity. My pride… because if I deny this opportunity one more time, I'm going to lose it.

"Serena… we spend the majority of our lives working in order to live. Don't you want to do something that makes you happy?"

I snap my head back towards Darien and open my mouth to protest, but words fail me. Are the ghosts of my past cloaking me this badly?

My chest tightens as tears begin to form at the inner corners of my eyes. My stomach clenches as I think of this generous offer, an offer of a lifetime that I know I will never see again. And this man, this wonderful, generous man who has made it possible for me…

How can I keep lying to him?

"You're right," I whisper. "For the first time in a long time, I would like to actually feel what it is like to live. Not just exist." My voice cracks slightly at my admission. Years of diapers, carpools, soccer balls and ballet shoes glide past me. Just as I see his smile soften, the knife twists in my stomach. "But I can't. I can't. Not now. I don't know if I ever can."

The smile drops, but it's not disappointment that crosses his face. No, it's… concern. Obvious concern.

Darien suddenly stands and makes his way around the desk. I am slightly surprised, and a bit unnerved, as he sits beside me and pins me with a look that makes my barrier shake.

His voice is gentle. "What's going on, Serena?" I wince, hands gripping one another in my lap, wringing out my emotions in a pathetic attempt to quell my turmoil. It isn't until he places his hand on top of mine that the tears finally slip down my face, falling on us in embarrassingly large plops.

I untangle my hands and start wiping at my eyes. "I'm sorry; I'm so, so sorry," I repeat, but the tears won't stop. This giant wave of sorrow engulfs me, and I feel my defenses slipping fast. But Darien remains beside me; a gentle, coaxing gaze on his face, waiting for me to spill everything.

And I am undone.

I lift my hands and let my face fall into my palms as a sob overpowers my system, and I let it all fall out. In the midst of my tears I feel his hand rubbing my back, but I can't stop. The weight of the burden I've been carrying for years is releasing.

Dropping out of school.

Putting my career on hold.

Falling out of love.

Raising two children.

Working as an assistant.

Carpooling.

Paying bills.

And it's never going to change.

"It's never going to change," I finally manage to say. "It's never… going to change."

"What's never going to change?"

"My _life,_ " I admit tearfully. "It's… it's not going to ever happen for me."

His voice remains gentle. "Why?"

" _Because; b_ ecause I have to be there for them. I can't… I can't not be there for them."

"Your kids?"

I nod my head vigorously, followed by a sniffle. "With the divorce and the kids not speaking to Seiya, they… they need someone who's going to be there for them. I can't… I can't abandon them. Not now."

And it's out: the divorce. The kids. The lack of balance in my life.

"I'm sorry," I quickly say as I shake my head. "You don't need to be hearing this." I pick my head up and look at him, doing my best to ignore the sympathetic look that is embedded in his eyes. "Here you are, offering me this opportunity of a lifetime, and I'm falling apart. God, this is so embarrassing!" I cry out. I drop my head back into my hands, mortified at how quickly this took a turn.

"Why… why didn't you tell me sooner?" I can his hesitancy over asking this type of question. And just like that, the unknown resurfaces of what exactly we've been doing these past few months.

"I…" I wipe at my tears again, taking a couple of extra swipes in case my mascara isn't truly waterproof. "I didn't think you wanted to know…"

A puzzled look crosses his face. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to know?"

"Well, we… I don't know, never talked? About this kind of stuff? I didn't know… if I was crossing some sort of line if I discussed any of this. Because we haven't really discussed much of anything…"

The puzzled look drops. "You're not wrong," Darien confirms as he runs his fingers through his hair. "We never did establish… anything… did we?" When I don't answer him, he continues. "I'm sorry that you felt like you couldn't come to me. I didn't mean to make you feel that way. You could've absolutely come to me. I would have understood completely."

I sniff again. "Yeah?"

He nods. "Absolutely. I've gone through this too, remember?"

I blink a few times in recollection. "I kind of forgot about that," I wince.

"Well, it is something I don't like to bring up. And with whatever we had going on between us, I most certainly wasn't going to discuss it." He pauses. "Is that's what has been going on? I can tell that you're not acting like yourself. Is it the proceedings?"

I nod in confirmation. "Yes… and no. It's not the actual process of divorcing him, because I'm not in love with him. Not anymore." I see the faintest sign of relief cross his face at this admission. "It's… it's how it happened."

Darien remains silent, allowing me to either continue or conclude. Part of me is horrified that all of this is coming out at the absolutely wrong time, but another part of me feels… relief. Relief in the release of all these tense, heartbreaking emotions.

"I found out he was cheating on me. For months, actually, before we split. And when I confronted him about it, my kids overheard the whole thing. And… and they're hurt. Really, really hurt. Elsie, she's questioning if it is her fault because she somehow figured it out that her Dad and I got married because I was pregnant. And Alex? He's acting like he has to be the man of the house and is taking on way too many chores that I can't even intervene with, because he's doing them before I even get home. He's… he's supposed to be playing soccer and doing homework, not starting dinner every night. That's my responsibility." I close my eyes and shake my head, the offer coming back into light.

"Which is why… I can't accept this offer. If I go to school, I will be around less. And my kids… they need me more than anything right now."

My rejection hangs in the space between us. Darien cups his chin in thought while I let my eyes fall back to my clenched hands laying in my lap. It _fucking hurts_ , rejecting this offer. It hurts more than finding out Seiya was sleeping with someone else. It hurts more than freakin' childbirth.

But it doesn't hurt more than the pain my kids are going through. Because if I can take it off of them and put it on me, it's worth it. Completely.

"Can I… may I ask you something?

I turn toward Darien, whose expression is once again sincere. When I give a short nod, he presses his lips together, as if he is deliberating if he should ask or not. I tip my head to the side in wonder, confirming that it's okay to ask.

"What," he pauses and scrunches up the corner of his lip in the most adorable way I have ever seen, before he starts speaking again. "What happens when your kids make amends with their Dad?"

My mouth parts slightly, but I don't have an answer.

"I don't mean to overstep here, but, they will, right? I… You don't seem like the kind of person who would allow their kids stay away from their father forever, right?" My jaw slackens a bit more, but I still have no words. "They're angry now. And rightfully so. But… do you think they'll stay angry indefinitely?"

"I…" I stammer, a little thwarted by the question. I blink two, three times as I try to process. Obviously, I don't want the kids to stay away from him forever, because he's their father. But I guess I'm a little unsure if they'll forgive him. And maybe that's because I don't know if _I_ can forgive him. "I…"

Darien gives me a knowing smile, followed my a small nod. "Serena, if your kids are half as resilient as you, everything will turn out just fine. I mean that. It will take time, but… everything's going to be okay." I allow my eyes to catch his, and deep, deep down, I feel this small flicker of hope that it really _can_ happen. Just looking into his brilliant blue eyes, I feel hopeful. I feel calmer; steadied, even. When I take in a deep breath and allow myself to picture life in two... three months, even, I suddenly see it. I see the kids doing okay in their new routine. I can picture them forgiving their father, running out the front door without any hesitation. They're… they're going to be okay.

"But," Darien's tone shifts gently, snapping out of my vision. "Serena, nothing will ever change if things don't change. And that needs to start with you. Can you tell me, honestly… are you happy?"

"No," I immediately whisper as I tear my eyes away. I don't even need to think about it. I'm not happy. I'm not happy _at all_. I'm downright miserable with everything. All the uncertainty. All the anger. All the hurt. All the questions and the wondering and the hesitancy. "I'm not."

I feel Darien's hand on my shoulder, and at first, I can't find the strength to look back at him. I just told the man _that I have slept with_ that I am not happy. _Way to be ridiculously honest, Serena._

I slowly will myself to look at him, and am surprised to see empathy instead of disappointment. "I know how you feel. More than you can know," Darien begins. "One monotonous day follows another. The same things happen again, and again, and again. The same moments, same experiences, same expectations. And before I knew it, a month would pass, and then another, and another. Tomorrow no longer felt tomorrow. Each day on the calendar felt like another day of expectations. That was, until I met you."

My heart starts pounding wildly as my eyes widen. _He's... he's talking to me. About himself. Please... please... keep talking to me like this._

He removes his hand from my shoulder and delicately places it back on the top of my own. "The first time I saw you, I was mesmerized by your beautiful blue eyes. Your gorgeous smile. Your ridiculously impressive knowledge of motor sport vehicles." I let out a small laugh, a flash of a smile forming on my face as he continues. "How you have this confidence in you, and not at work. It's in your smile, the way you interact with people, and how you know how to take command of what you need. What your family needs. I'm in awe of you, Serena, and I'm not going to let another day go by that makes you think otherwise."

"Darien…" I whisper, but it comes out in a sharp breath.

"You are so much more than you let yourself believe. You are intelligent, you are beautiful, and I just know you can handle any obstacle thrown your way." He pauses just as he clasps my hand. I am awestruck as I feel my hand rise up towards those lips I have been longing for. "I didn't know my life was lacking so much until you came into it."

When Darien presses his lips against my knuckles and I revel in the sensation of his breath tickling my skin, I feel… empowered. That I am capable of getting through anything. That I am stronger than I let myself believe. A wave of tingles flutter through my veins, from my fingertips to my toes, as my inner monologue shifts from _you can't_ to _you will._ And I will. I _am_ strong. I _am_ courageous.

I _will not_ become subservient to the expectations of this… routine I've built for myself.

I… am going to break free.

And in my first moment of taking what I know I need, I lean over to kiss him, temporarily forgetting where I am and why I'm here for just a split second. And in these stolen moments, I pour every ounce of belief, passion, hunger, and gratitude into it… and allow myself to feel.

Feel him.

Feel this.

Feel myself rise above the surface and into the sunlight once more.

Because I will rise above my self-doubt. I will show myself, my children, the world that I _am_ stronger.

I am ready to become Serena Tsukino, law student, once more.


	20. Chapter 19 (Final Chapter)

_"Monotony is the most beautiful or the most atrocious thing. The most beautiful if it is a reflection of eternity - the most atrocious if it is a sign of an unvarying perpetuity. It is time surpassed or time sterilized. The circle is the symbol of monotony which is beautiful, the swinging of a pendulum of monotony which is atrocious. — Simone Weil_

Chapter 19 (Final Chapter)

#

I'll never forget when I realized "elbow grease" was nothing more than a saying for putting forth stronger effort and not an actual product. I was 15, helping my Mom, and tasked with cleaning the lasagna dish from dinner. Of course, the baked cheese wouldn't come off, so I asked her where the elbow grease was. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.

I always think of that moment when I am struggling to clean a pan with cheese insanely adhered to the sides. How the hell baked ziti causes this much extra effort to clean a baking dish will forever mystify me. And that's with using cooking spray.

It's late, and I'm doing my best to be quiet given the kids are in bed, but I am struggling to clean off the pan. Finally, with a sour pucker, I reach for the dish soap, pour an unnecessary amount in the dish, and let the hot water run.

 _Soak on that, bitch._

I watch as the bubbles form, rising higher and higher, only to startle out of my focus when I hear a tapping at the back door. I look at the clock, 10:40 p.m. reading back at me, and shut the water off. Who on earth is coming by this late at night?

I quickly pull off my yellow gloves, place them on the edge of the sink, and turn off the faucet. I grab a towel as I walk toward the back doorway, expecting to see … well, almost anyone. A friend. A neighbor. A robber. Almost anyone but Seiya.

I freeze, my body so stiff that the damn towel movement has suspended. Against the twelve-windowpane door, his fist is knocking the glass gently. He's staring at me, and even with the porch lighting I can see the desperate look in his eyes. I shudder when a muffled 'please' travels through the glass, and I find myself at a crossroads.

I could tell him to fuck off and get the hell off of my property.

I could turn around and walk away and not give him the privilege of my breath.

But… he _could_ have the signed divorce papers.

Or, maybe he's coming to dispute the splitting of the assets. Well, fuck. If that's the case, _his_ attorney can contact _mine_.

"Serena, please," he says once more, and I bite back the bitter taste in my mouth. Because I know I'm going to let him in and let him say whatever stupid shit he's going to say. Because I am an idiot.

With a dejected sigh, I drop the towel on the table and make my way to the door. I twist the brass lock and pull at the handle, allowing this man, who once shared my home, to enter. At his own risk, of course.

He walks in slowly, and I do my best to ignore the sound of his black boots walking on the tile. The all-too familiar scent of Ck ONE wafts, and I am internally pleased that my body doesn't respond to it the way it used to.

 _Because I'm absolutely disgusted by you._

Seiya's hands are fidgeting, his default nervous tick. I hate that I'll always know those small details of him and his habits; it's part of the beauty (burden?) of being with someone for over thirteen years. _Yet, you weren't able to tell just how far his lies would go, so how well did you actually know him?_

"What do you want?" I finally ask him as I cross my arms. He leans up against the wall, and I watch as he stuffs his hands into his leather jacket. Seiya's eyes are downcast, as if he's picking a tile to stare at, and for the first time I notice he's not carrying any paperwork or envelope. _So, no signed divorce papers._

 _Damn._

He doesn't answer right away. Rather, he clears his throat, another nervous tendency of his. Only, I couldn't care less if he's nervous. I want to know why the hell he is standing in my kitchen.

I eliminate the pause. "Seiya? Why are you here?" I press, allowing my displeasure at his presence to prevail. I don't want him here. I hate him so much right now. I hate what he's done to me, our family, how he's broken us and hurt us more than I could have ever imagined. I hate how much my kids hurt, how our lives have changed drastically since that fucking Christmas party, and how he couldn't be honest with me sooner.

Why couldn't he have been honest with me sooner?

When he looks up, his navy eyes looking directly into my own, I see it: regret. Pure, raw, and complete remorse.

I swallow, hard. I haven't seen him look so vulnerable since…

Never, actually. I've _never_ seen him this susceptible.

"I'm sorry," he begins, his voice soft, broken. "I'm sorry to be here so late. I know it's… late." I nod, allowing him to continue. "I just…"

He tears his stare away from me and looks out at the kitchen. His eyes scan the area, and it's obvious that I was working on cleaning up dinner. Like clockwork, I'm always in the kitchen cleaning dishes at 10:30. And he knows it, too, because I see the recollection in his features, followed by his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

He lets out an exasperated breath. "I fucked up."

"Yeah, you did," I quickly bite back with confirmation.

"I… I should have told you years ago. I… I haven't been happy in a long time. A long time," he repeats, his right hand gripping and pulling at his thumb. "I don't know if it was giving up the band, or just, losing ourselves along the way, but…"

"I told you not to give up the ba—" I start to interject, but he cuts me off.

"I know, I know. You did tell me that, many times. I just… I don't know, felt, like I had to? But then after a few years, I felt like… I wasn't me, anymore. Like this part of me that was so important just… died."

I press my lips together, forcing myself to keep my words, and my emotions, down. _Because I know exactly how you feel._

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Serena. I… I got so lost, trying to be this version of an adult that I wasn't ready to be yet, and… I threw you under the bus for it. You didn't deserve that," he says sadly, his head shaking. "You didn't."

 _Don_ _'t cry. He doesn't deserve your tears._ "You cheated on me."

"I know."

"For months," I spit out, trying my damnedest not to choke on the words. "Almost a _year_."

"I know."

"While I was _home_ , with our _children._ "

"I know, I know," he confirms with an added slam of his fist against the wall. His hands immediately make their way to his bangs. "I know."

I pause, because I know if I say another word, I'm going to cry. And this man… he does _not_ deserve my tears. Because I am better than this. I am better than him. I am stronger, damn it all.

But _holy shit_ does this hurt. A lot.

"I miss them," he finally says, catching my guarded stare once more. "I miss them so much."

"They're mad at you," I relay, but the brusqueness of my tone has dropped significantly. Because deep down, I know that they shouldn't be kept from him, even if it is their choice. It's like I keep saying to myself: they didn't ask for this.

"I know they are. I just…" Seiya shakes his head again, and I am startled to see his eyes starting to gloss. "This is the longest I've ever been away from them, and…" He looks back down towards the tile. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not. But… please, Serena, please. I can't stand them being mad at me any longer. Can you… can you help me? Can you ask them to please see me so I can tell them how sorry I am for hurting them?"

I quickly wipe at my eyes before I allow a tear to escape, but it's for naught. Because… yes, even though I can't forgive him, he is their father. And to see him so compassionate about his children? That … means a lot to me.

I don't trust my voice. Not right now. I nod my head slowly, and the look on his face transforms significantly. Because he knows… he knows I'm not someone who will keep him from them. Even in all of my anger, I would never deny him his children.

"Thank you," he whispers. I nod once again, a little quicker this time, before crossing my arms once more. He doesn't linger, rather he slips his hand into his back pocket and produces a very familiar piece of paper.

"I've signed them. No contesting."

I blink wildly. No contesting? "Seiya, I –"

He shakes his head vigorously as he extends his arm. "I should have been honest with you. Maybe if I had been, we might not have gotten to this place. I wouldn't have been so awful to you."

I hesitate for a moment, but I grasp the paperwork. "Thank you."

We remain still for a moment, and I can't help but absorb the finite feeling in the air. Because once he walks out those doors, it's officially over. I'll file the paperwork tomorrow, and we will no longer be bound to one another.

Even though I know I don't love him anymore, I can't help but feel sad. But it's a good sad, like finishing a story that kept you on your toes for months. We give each other one final look before he walks out the door, and the moment I hear the latch click, I release a long, steady breath.

I half expect myself to tear up, but I'm not surprised when it doesn't happen. I mean, I'm still angry. But, I'm also at peace with the decision, because he finally admitted why he was so miserable. If anything, _that_ makes me sad, and the fact that he couldn't talk to me about it shows me that we weren't meant to be. No; partners are meant to communicate. They tell each other their hopes, their dreams, and lean on one another when times get tough. And Seiya and I… we didn't have that. Maybe once upon a time we did.

I made it clear that I struggled with my identity. He knew how badly I wanted to go back to school. But… he never cared, either. Not like Darien. The moment I panicked, telling him how I couldn't and just unleashed my fears, he talked me through them. _That_ is what a partner is supposed to do.

And I would have. I would have encouraged Seiya to pick up his guitar again. The fact that he couldn't talk to me? That almost hurts more than the cheating. Almost.

I look down at the papers, his signature next to mine.

He agreed to the alimony.

Which means… I really _can_ make it happen. I can go back to school. With the support of work and the alimony and child support, plus my own salary, I can work, go to school, and still support my children.

I let a smile break out, despite the lingering sadness in my chest. It will be tough, but I am ready to face the challenges ahead.

I drop the paperwork on the table and return to the sink, staring at the casserole dish full of bubbles. Elbow grease. It's going to take a little bit of elbow grease, but, I will do my hardest to have a civil relationship with Seiya. Not friends per se, but civil. Alex and Elsie need a relationship with their father.

I'll probably always be angry with him, but the anger one day will subside. Our history will remain exactly that – history. As long as he is a good father to our children, which I know he will be, then there is nothing else that needs to be said. If I remain angry, so will Elsie, and so will Alex.

It won't be easy, but for them, I can reign in my anger. Maybe once they see I'm not as mad, they won't be.

One step towards forgiveness. For all of us.

#

6:45.

My eyes linger on the number a moment longer than necessary. Red digits stare back at me, and I feel… not rushed, which is very weird. In the background, I can hear drawers closing in Elsie's room, signaling to me that she's getting ready for the school day. I pause and think back to the last time I actually had to bang on her door to yell at her. It's been at _least_ a month.

I smile to myself; it feels _amazing_ not having to shout at this hour.

I stand in front of my dresser and finish my own task of getting dressed. I focus on my reflection as I slip the buttons through their respective holes, mentally applauding myself on the selection of the navy top with the gray pants. Once my task is complete, I pull my hair into a ballet bun, twisting my blonde hair into a dumpling shape before pinning it at the base of my neck. I grab my new favorite tube of mascara and quickly brush the product against my lashes, depositing it into my make up tin almost as quickly as I picked it up. When I look back at myself, I feel confident in my look for the day; professional, modest, neat. I quickly smooth the material on my abdomen, nod at myself in the mirror, and then turn my attention towards checking on my almost ten-year-old son.

As I walk out of my room, Elsie's door pops open. "Morning, Mom," I hear my daughter say as the door opens wider, and I can't help but smile again.

"Good morning, baby. Sleep well?"

"Mmhmm," she replies with a nod before she disappears back into the room, followed by some more shuffling of stuff.

I poke my head into Alex's room. "Hey bud, you awake?" I ask my son, who is laying in his bed in his usual Nike attire, taking notice that his black hair neatly parted and slicked back. I half-expected to see him on his laptop, playing that Fort Nite game, only to blink a couple of times in shock to see he was reading a book instead.

I knock on the doorframe softly, feeling slightly bad when I startle him out of his focus. "7:00 bud. You've got less than 30 before the bus."

"Yeah, Mom, I know. 5 minutes?" he asks; his dark blue eyes casting a pleading look.

I smile and nod. "Of course. Breakfast in ten. Sound good?"

He nods before his eyes slip back down to the pages, but I linger a moment longer to catch a glimpse of the cover. I am both surprised and elated to see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets staring back at me. Now that's a fantasy realm I can get on board with.

I shuffle down the stairs, currently vacuumed and absent of clutter, and into the kitchen where the coffee maker beckons me once again. I don't think I'll ever stop consuming the unhealthy amount of coffee I drink before 7am, but fuck it. There are worse ways to die. Pouring myself yet another cup, I stare out to the vacant kitchen table, waiting for my children to sit in their respective seats.

I lift my mug mechanically to my lips as I watch them file to the table. First to arrive is Alex, who quietly tucks into his bowl of cereal, his book placed beside him. Elsie is next to skid in to the kitchen, dressed in her typical fashion: her long, black hair pulled into a messy top-bun paired with leggings and a hoodie. Always leggings and a hoodie. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

My eyes glance away from the table and to the activities calendar I mounted on the fridge. I stare at the calendar with snapped eyebrows. While Elsie has dance and Alex has soccer right after school today, we're all home today by 5:30. That… hardly ever happens.

I look back to the table and watch as both kids slurp at their cereal. Elsie taps at Alex's book, and then the unspeakable happens: they engage in conversation.

"Like it so far?"

"Yeah, it's really good."

"Which chapter are you on?"

"Five."

"Oooh, on their way to Hogwarts. That's probably one of my favorite chapters."

I tune out of their conversation and let them continue to have their sibling moment because, if I'm being honest with myself, if I listen any further I might cry. With everything that has gone on the last year, from their Dad and I always fighting, to the separation, now the divorce, their worlds have been rocked. To watch them have such a _normal_ exchange, it… it's a sign. That everything is truly going to be alright.

However, the moment they begin discussing Mr. Weasley's enchanted car, it gets me thinking. A car. We _still_ don't have a car, and the rental we've been running on the last month has been less than exciting.

I can't help but interrupt. "Hey kids – want to go with me to buy a new car tonight?"

They stop and look at me, and their eyes widen. Their excitement is infectious; once they get a big smile on their face, I can't help but grin along with them.

"Yea!" they cry out in unison.

"Can we get something cool?" Alex immediately suggests. "Like a sports car or something?"

I can barely hold back a laugh. "A sports car?"

"Yeah, like a corvette or something!"

"Can we get a convertible?!" Elsie chimes in, and I officially can't hold back the laughter.

 _They truly are my children._

"We can look, but I love the way you guys are thinking," I reply with a wiggle of my eyebrows. With that, they both start shouting out their suggestions on color, makes, styles, their ideas growing bigger and bigger as they list off more and more features. My eyes drift over to the clock, and I am alarmed when I have to call out "7:28!" The familiar noise of chair legs scraping their way against the worn-out wooden floor replaces the chatter. Both kids pick up their backpacks and shout their goodbyes down the narrow hallway that leads to the front door, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I stare back out to the kitchen table, two empty cereal bowls waiting for the dishwasher. For a brief moment, I can feel Seiya's absence, but the thought is as fleeting as a snowflake in July. I place my coffee cup on the counter and make my way to the table and grab both of the empty bowls.

I smile again.

A year ago, I was standing at the countertop, an empty shell. I was lonely, miserable, overworked, and overtired. I was yelling at my kids to get on the bus, having dull, lifeless conversations with my husband, and struggling to make schedules meet.

And now? Yes, there's still routine. There will be good mornings, like today, and bad mornings where I'm pounding on Elsie or Alex's door to wake up. There will always be moments of repetitiveness, such as cereal consumed and bowls left on the table as they run out of the house to catch the bus. Life will go forward.

I place the two dishes on top of one another before I cast a glance at my own pile on the table for work. A protein bar to munch on my way to work, prepackaged bow of salad, my purse, the signed paperwork… and my LSAT study guide.

Life will go forward, yes, but I'm not going to remain stuck in one devoid of excitement any longer.

It's time for me to move forward as well. With my children by my side and the support of my colleagues, I am ready to commence the next phase in my life.

Just as I am about to finger through the pages of the study guide, I hear my phone ding behind me. With a quick glance of the screen, I scoop up my materials, my bag, and slip on my coat before I do a final once over of the house. The coffee maker is off, the pot is in the sink alongside the dishes, and I am good to go.

I practically skip towards the front door, and I feel the butterflies of excitement swirling around in my stomach. Not willing to delay the anticipation, I clasp the handle and all but throw open the door and I am greeted with an apparatus of perfection. Sleek. Smooth. Sexy.

The Masarati.

Darien is leaning up against it, his grey suit a sharp contrast against the vehicle. I mentally snap a photo of this scene, because… damn. All I need is Darien in those form-fitting boxers that he wears that captures the curve of the muscle in his thigh… _mm. Yum._ I pretty much skip down the steps, basking in the sunshine and the morning dew, and up to the man with the beautiful smile.

"Morning, sunshine," he greets me as I approach, and I can't help but grin wider.

"Good morning." My heart begins to thump wildly as he leans in, and I am all too willing to reciprocate the motion. It's a brief touch, but it's… perfect. The feel of Darien's lips against mine will always be perfect.

"Ready?"

I nod enthusiastically. "Yup!"

"Great. You drive."

I freeze mid-step. "I… what?"

He returns a coy smile that reaches his eyes, and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Is he… is he serious? _IS HE SERIOUS?_

He doesn't answer, all he does is tip his head back and let out a playful laugh. I am briefly dumbfounded, but quickly snap myself out of it as I all but dash to the drivers seat and slide into the vehicle. My eyes float around the cabin, flicking between the dash and the wheel and the delicate stitching of the leather on the gear. I cautiously rest my hands against the steering wheel, my palms falling into the intentional indents built in to the material. I let my fingers curl around, and in this moment it feels… _real._

"Ready?" I nod vigorously as I look at him, his finger pointing at the start button and explaining to me that I have to step on the brake before I press it. My legs quiver as I adjust my seat and press my foot against the brake. With a deep breath, I press the start button and allow the car to come to life. I close my eyes and feel the power of the car course through me, and I can't help but grin one of those humongous, teethy smiles. This is _way_ better than any fantasy.

I reach for the shift gear and put it in drive and without further delay, press my foot against the gas and pull out into the road. As the car makes its way up the road, I can't help but start laughing. It's amazing that such a small thing, like driving a car, can make me feel so… so…. freaking happy!

We pull onto the highway, and I let my confidence and my foot accelerate the vehicle. But as I relish in this magical moment, one that I will always treasure, I can't help but circle back to the fact of the matter that things have changed.

And while I know it will be hard work, I am ready to become this new, empowered woman in this world:

The single mother.

The coordinator.

The student.

The assistant.

The lover.

In this moment, this crystal clear moment…

I am _breaking monotony._

 _The End_

* * *

AHHHHH! I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT THIS IS COMPLETE! When I began this story in June 2018, I a.) never thought it'd take me this long to write it, and b.) never thought I'd have so much support from all of you in this alternate universe story. I did my best to stay true to the characters, despite throwing them in a very real-world situation. I live in the United States, and we have a very sad, very real statistic: more families in America have a pet versus both of their parents in their home. Of course, there are so many factors that go in to that, but when you factor in that between 40 – 50% of marriages end in divorce in America as well, it got me thinking: what would happen if Serena(Usagi) was in a failing American marriage? How would she balance her work/life? How would she respond if she was in this endless cycle of putting everyone before herself? And, finally, what would happen if you threw in someone who made you feel things you haven't felt in a long time?

And thus, the story was born!

I want to extend a HUGE, HEARTFELT THANK YOU to all of you, the readers and reviewers, for your continued support as I worked on this story. This 18+ month journey would NOT have been possible if it wasn't for you and your encouragement, inspirational words, enthusiasm, and commentary. So thank you Queen Risa, CassieRaven, SailorGuardian314, NikkiBC, mryann, 6Zo0Q, Coco Moon, MyIndy13, Moon Bunny, phillynz, Sessediz, TropicalRemix, Roxypockets1, Antigone2, judeohcop, raye85, Thatycharacter, kamijin, dayfreshie, gwhitaker87, Astraearose-silvermoon, Revy679, sailorvsredmask, ShAnTaLy, Syulai, Latebuttruefan, thekatxx, tryntee13, StoryUnfolding, DarkenedHrt101, SailorMoon489, Golak, Beej88, Krys7, Perfect Beauty, mikananatsume1228, sailormama, Starling Sinclair, TikiCheeky, schwartz, My Veggie Burger, BetaBlue1, bitbit2084, Xo, haruka-usagi-forever, usanotsuki, kamijin, Oloferne, mali86, Zanahana, and all of you wonderful Guest reviewers, for your endless encouragement (and of course, to anyone I may have missed!).

And a very special, heartfelt gushing of gratitude to Pia Bartolini, whom has quickly become a very good friend both in our amazing fic/Sailor Moon world and in the real world. Despite everything going on in your life, you took the time to help me create this story with your attention to detail and your never-ending support. If not for you, I don't think this story would have been as successful as it was. Thank you SO MUCH for playing such a big part in this journey.


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